,     J    2 


?«^ 


<%^ 


^r../^"-^^^ 

'•'1^ 


1 


^f^ 


il^0S 


^^iB#^ 


^^^^ 


?T 


i>i    ^j 


v>    r- 


^^^ip 


\ 


\'^ 


^\. 


^v 


p 


ll 


^mi 


ai^igi;^ 


■ffi 


^■1 


VOLUME    XVII 
POEMS   OF   GOETHE 


O! 


1 

J 


t» 


Edited  by  Nathan 


u  b  I  i  s  h  e  r  s 


A 


■lis  Maid  with  T)<)'^Jir.T;f  Lnoh  " 
.  ure  from  painting  b) 


m 


poetical  Wox^B 


OF 


J.  W.  Von  Goethe 

In  Two  Volumes 
Volume  I. 


Edited  by  Nathan  Haskell  Dole 

Boston    J*    Francis     A.    Niccolls 
e^"    C  o  ni  p  a  M  N     ^     Publishers 


lEtittion  ©e  (^rantj  ILuxe 

This  Edition  is  Limited  to  Two  Hundred  and  Fifty 
Copies,  of  which  this  is  copy 

No* 5.4 


Copyright,  igo2 
By  Francis  A.  Niccolls  &  Co. 


flToIonfal  Preas 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Ca 

Boston,  Mass.,  U  S.  A. 


SRLF 

URL 

pr 

3LOi6 

A3 

195^ 

v-/ 

c 

ontents 

PAGE 

PAGE 

Dedication 

1 

Living  Remembranc 

e       .       30 

To  the  Kind  Reader 

5 

The  Bliss  of  Abseuci 

3        .       31 

iSound,  Sweet  Song  . 

5 

To  Luna  . 

.       32 

The  Modern  Auiadis 

6 

The  Wedding  Night 

.       33 

When   the    Fox  Dies  His 

Mischievous  Joy 

34 

Skin  Counts 

7 

November  Song 

.       34 

The  Coquette    . 

8 

To  the  Chosen  One 

.       35 

The  Wild  Rose 

8 

First  Loss 

.       36 

The  Breeze 

9 

Appai-ent  Death 

.       36 

Bliudman's  Buff 

9 

After-Sensations 

.       36 

Christel    .... 

10 

Presence  . 

.       37 

Smitten    .... 

11 

Separation 

.       38 

Reservation 

12 

To  the  Distant  One 

.       38 

Resolve     .... 

13 

By  the  River    . 

.       39 

Treasure  Trove 

13 

The  Exchange . 

.       39 

The  Muses'  Son 

14 

Farewell  . 

.       40 

Reciprocal     Invitation   to 

Welcome  and  Depai 

ture  .       40 

the  Dance 

15 

New  Love,  New  Lift 

;        .       41 

Like  and  Like  . 

16 

To  Belinda 

42 

Self-Deceit 

16 

With      an     Embroi 

dered 

Declaration  of  War 

17 

Ribbon . 

.       43 

Lover  in  All  Shapes 

18 

Second  Life 

.       44 

The  Goldsmith's  Appren- 

To My  Mistress 

.       44 

tice        .... 

20 

Flower-Salute  . 

.       45 

Answers   in   a    Game    of 

With  a  Golden  Neck 

lace  .       46 

Questions 

21 

May  Song 

.       46 

Different  Emotions  on  the 

On  the  Lake     . 

.       48 

Same  Spot     . 

22 

From  the  Mountain 

.       49 

The  Misanthrope 

23 

May  Song 

.       49 

Different  Threats      . 

24 

Early  Spring    . 

.       50 

Who'll  Buy  Cupid  ? 

24 

In  Summer 

.       51 

True  Enjoyment 

26 

Autumn  Feelings 

.       51 

Maiden  Wishes 

27 

Restless  Love  . 

.       52 

The  Farewell    . 

28 

The  Sliepherd's  Lan 

lent  .      53 

Motives     .... 

29 

Night  Song 

.       54 

The  Lovely  Night     . 

29 

Comfort  in  Tears 

.       54 

Love's  Dream  . 

30 

Longing    . 

.       56 

vu 


VIU 


CONTENTS 


Thought 


The  Castle  on  the  Moun- 
tain      .... 

To  Miguon 

Spirit  Greeting 

To  a  Golden  Heart  He 
Was  Wearing  on  His 
Neck     . 

Wanderer's  Night-Song 

Ilm,  the  River,  to  the 
Moon 

Huntsman's  Evening  Song 

Evening    . 

To  Lina    . 

Ever  and  Everywhere 

Delight  of  Sorrow     . 

Proximity 

A  Night 

Petition 

To  His  Coy  One 

Rollicking  Hans 

To  Lida    . 

Reciprocal 

The  Freebooter 

Joy  and  Sorrow 

March 

April 

May 

June 

Next  Year's  Spring 

Swiss  Song 

Sicilian  Song    . 

At  Midnight  Hour 

To  the  Rising  Full  Moon 

The  Bridegroom 

Such,  Such  Is  He  Who 
Pleaseth  Me  . 

Gipsy  Song 

The  Destruction  of  Magde 
burg 

Finnish  Song    . 

Depression 

Sorrow  AVithout  Consola- 
tion 

The  I'arting      . 

On  the  New  Year 

Anniversary  Song     . 

The  Spring  Oracle    . 

The  Happy  Couple  . 

Song  of  Fellowship  . 

Constancy  in  Change 


PAGE 

57 
59 
60 


00 
61 

62 
63 
64 
64 
65 
65 
65 
66 

m 

66 
67 
68 
68 
69 
69 
70 
71 
71 
72 
74 
74 
75 
75 
76 
76 

77 
78 

79 
80 
81 

82 
82 
83 
84 
86 
87 
90 
91 


PAGE 

Table  Song  .  .  .93 
Wont  and  Done  .  .  95 
Vanitas,   Vanitatum  Vaui- 

tas  ....  96 
Fortune  of  War  .  .  98 
Coptic  Song  .  .  .  100 
Another  .  .  .  .100 
Open  Table  .  .  .101 
The  Reckoning  .  .  103 
Mignon  ....  106 
General  Confession  .  .  107 
Ergo  Bibamus  !  .  .108 
The  Minstrel  .  .  .109 
Epiphanias  .  .  .111 
Ballad  .  .  .  .112 
The  Faithless  Boy  .  .115 
The  Erl-King  .  .  .117 
Johanna  Sebus  .         .118 

The  Violet        .         .         .120 
The  Beauteous  Flower     .     121 
Sir  Curt's  Wedding  Jour- 
ney       ....     124 
Wedding  Song  .         .     125 

The  Fisherman  .  ,  128 
The  Rat-Catcher  .  .  129 
The  King  of  Thule  .  .130 
The  Treasure-Seeker  .  131 
The  Spinner  .  .  .  132 
The  Youth   and  the  Mill- 

Stream  .  .  .  .133 
The   Maid   of    the  Mill's 

Treachery  .  .  .136 
The   Maid   of    the  Mill's 

Repentance  .  .  .138 
The  Walking  Bell  .  .141 
The     Traveller    and    the 

Farm  Maiden  .  .  142 
The  Page  and  the  Miller's 

Daughter  .  .  .  145 
Faithful  Eckart  .  .  147 
The  Dance  of  the  Dead  .  149 
Effect  at  a  Distance  .     150 

The  Bride  of  Corinth  .  152 
The  Pupil  in  Magic  .  .  159 
Before  a  Com-t  of  Justice  162 
The  God  and  the  Baya- 
dere ....  163 
The  Pariah  .  .  .166 
Death  Lament  of  the  No- 
ble Wife  of  Asan  Aga  .     172 


CONTENTS 

ix 

PAGE 

PAGE 

Idyll         .        .        .        . 

175 

The  Friendly  Meeting 

.     262 

Rinaldo    .         .         .         . 

17!) 

In  a  Word 

.     262 

The      P'irst      Walpurgis- 

The  Maiden  Speaks 

.     263 

Night    .         .         .         . 

184 

Growth     . 

.     264 

To  My  Friend  . 

188 

Food  in  Travel 

.     264 

Song  of  the  Spirits  over 

Departm-e 

.     265 

the  Waters    . 

102 

The  Loving  One  Writes 

.     265 

Mahomet's  Song 

V.r.i 

The    Loving     One    Onc( 

My  Goddess 

195 

More     . 

'     266 

llaitz  Mountains 

198 

The     Doubters    and    th( 

The    Wanderer's    Storm- 

Lovers  . 

^     267 

Song     .... 

201 

She  Cannot  End 

.     267 

To  Father  Kronos    . 

205 

Nemesis   . 

268 

The  Sea-Voyage 

206 

The  Christmas-Box  . 

.     268 

The  Eagle  and  the  Dove 

208 

The  Warning   . 

.     269 

Ganymede 

209 

The  Epochs      . 

.     269 

Prometheus 

210 

Charade    . 

270 

Limits  of  Humanity 

212 

The  Soldier's  Consolatior 

I     270 

The  Godlike     . 

213 

To  Originals     . 

271 

The  German  Parna.ssus    . 

215 

Genial  Impulse 

271 

Love's  Distresses 

222 

Neither  This  nor  That 

271 

Lili's  Menagerie 

223 

The  Way  to  Behave 

271 

To  Charlotte     . 

227 

The  Best 

272 

Morning  Lament 

228 

As  Broad  as  It's  Long 

272 

The  Visit .... 

230 

The  Rule  of  Life 

272 

The  Musagetes 

232 

The  Same,  Expanded 

272 

The  Water-Man 

234 

Calm  at  Sea     . 

273 

Psyche      .... 

235 

The  Prosperous  Voyage 

273 

In  Absence 

236 

Courage    . 

274 

The  Magic  Net 

236 

Admonition 

274 

The  Chm-ch  Window 

237 

My  Only  Property    . 

274 

The  Cavalier's  Choice 

238 

Old  Age   . 

275 

The      Artist's      Morning 

Epitaph    . 

275 

Song     .... 

240 

Rule  for  Monarchs  . 

275 

The  Goblet 

243 

Paulo  Post  Futiu-i    .     • 

275 

From  an  Album  of  1004  . 

244 

The  Fool's  Epilogue 

276 

To  the  Grasshopper 

245 

Authors    . 

277 

From    "  The   SoiTows    of 

Cat-Pie     . 

277 

Young  Werther  "  . 

246 

Joy  .... 

278 

Trilogy  of  Passion    . 

246 

Explanation    of    an    An- 

For Ever  .... 

254 

tique  Gem     . 

270 

Lines  on  Seeing  Schiller's 

Legend     . 

280 

Skull     .... 

254 

The  AVraugler  . 

280 

On  the  Divan    . 

255 

The  Critic 

281 

Royal  Prayer   . 

256 

The  Yelpers     . 

281 

Human  Feelings 

256 

Tlip  Stork's  Vocation 

282 

Explanation    of    an    An- 

The   Dilettante    and    the 

cient   Woodcut,   Repre- 

Critic   .         .         .         . 

282 

senting     Hans    Sachs's 

Poetry       .         .         .         . 

283 

Poetical  Mission    . 

256 

Celebrity  .        .        .        . 

283 

X 

CONTENTS 

PAOE 

PAGE 

Flaying  at  Priests    . 

284 

Anacreon's  Grave 

326 

Songs 

28(i 

The  Husbanduuvn 

326 

A  Parable 

286 

The  Brothers 

326 

i^hould  E'er  the  Loveles; 

Love's  IIoiu--Glass 

327 

Day       . 

287 

Warning 

327 

A  Plan  the  Muses  Eater 

Philomela 

327 

tained   . 

.     287 

The  Chosen  Rock 

328 

The  Death  of  the  Fly 

287 

Solitude 

328 

Jiy  the  River    . 

288 

Holy  Family 

329 

The  Fox  and  the  Hunts 

The  Muses'  Miri'or 

329 

man 

288 

The  Teachers 

329 

^riie  Froi^s 

289 

Marriage  Unequal 

330 

The  Wedding   . 

289 

Phoebus  and  Hermes     . 

330 

The  Fox  ami  Crane 

290 

The  Wreaths 

330 

Burial 

291 

The  New  Love 

331 

The  Bayers 

291 

The  Consecrated  Spot  . 

332 

Symbols  . 

292 

Sakontala 

332 

Threatening;  8io;ns    . 

292 

Distichs 

333 

The  Mountain  Village 

293 

The    Chinaman    in 

Three  Paliuodias 

293 

Rome 

334 

A  Symbol 

29(j 

Perfect  Bliss 

334 

Valediction 

297 

Proverbs 

334 

The  Country  Schoolmas- 

Venetian Epigrams 

335 

ter         ..         . 

298 

Elegies 

The  Legend  of  the  Horse- 

Roman Elegies 

340 

shoe 

299 

Alexis  and  Dora   . 

345 

The  Wanderer 

301 

Song  of  the  Fates     . 

354 

The  Drops  of  Nectar 

308 

Songs      from       Various 

Love     as     a     Landscape 

Plays,   etc. 

Painter 

309 

From  Faust  . 

356 

Ood,  Soul,  and  World 

312 

From      Faust  —  Second 

The     Metamorphosis     ol 

Part  .... 

366 

Plants  . 

313 

From    Gotz    Von    Ber- 

Religion  and  Church 

317 

lichinfjen    . 

374 

Proverbs  . 

322 

From  EgmoTit 

375 

Tame  Xenla 

322 

From     Wilhelm     Meis- 

Exculpation 

323 

ter's  Apprenticeship  . 

376 

Phooemion 

324 

Philine's  Song . 

378 

The  Park 

325 

Epilo!?ue      to      Schiller's 

Antiquks 

"  Song  of  the  Bell  "      . 

379 

Leopold,      Duke      ol 

[ 

L'Euvoi    .        .        .         . 

382 

Brunswick 

326  J 

List   of  Illustrations 

PAGE 

"A  BEAUTEOUS  MAID  WITH  DOWNCAST  LOOK  "  (See  page  26 1) 

Frontispiece 
"dorilis  then  gave  it  me  "      .         .         .         .         .         .         7 

"  Half  dkew  him  in,  half  lured  him  in  "       .         .         .     128 

"TlIKN    SHE    sinks    BESIDE    HIS    BIER  "   .....        165 

"The  monster's  droll  enough"       .....     225 


Poems  of  Goethe,  I. 


Poems   of  Goethe 


DEDICATION. 


The  morning  came.     Its  footsteps  scared  away 

The  gentle  sleep  that  hovered  lightly  o'er  me ; 
I  left  my  quiet  cot  to  greet  the  day, 

And  gaily  climbed  the  mountainside  before  me. 
The  sweet  young  flowers !  how  fresh  were  they  and 
tender, 

Brimful  with  dew  upon  the  sparkling  lea ; 
The  young  day  opened  in  exulting  splendour, 

And  all  around  seemed  glad  to  gladden  me. 

II. 

And,  as  I  mounted,  o'er  the  meadow  ground 

A  white  and  til  my  essence  'gan  to  hover ; 
It  sailed  and  shifted  till  it  hemmed  me  round, 

Then  rose  above  my  head,  and  floated  over. 
No  more  I  saw  the  beauteous  scene  unfolded  — 

It  lay  beneath  a  melancholy  shroud ; 
And  soon  was  I,  as  if  in  vapour  moulded. 

Alone,  within  the  twihght  of  the  cloud. 

III. 

At  once,  as  though  the  sun  were  struggling  through, 
Within  the  mist  a  sudden  radiance  started ; 


2  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Here  sunk  the  vapour,  but  to  rise  anew, 

There  on  the  peak,  and  upland  forest  parted. 

Oh,  how  I  panted  for  the  first  clear  gleaming. 
Made  by  the  gloom  it  banished  doubly  bright ! 

It  came  not,  but  a  glory  round  me  beaming. 
And  I  stood  blinded  by  the  gush  of  light. 

IV. 

A  moment,  and  I  felt  enforced  to  look. 

By  some  strange  impulse  of  the  heart's  emotion ; 
But  more  than  one  quick  glance  I  scarce  could  brook, 

For  all  was  burning  like  a  molten  ocean. 
There,  in  the  glorious  clouds  that  seemed  to  bear  her, 

A  form  angelic  hovered  in  the  air ; 
Ne'er  did  my  eyes  behold  a  vision  fairer, 

And  still  she  gazed  upon  me,  floating  there. 

V. 

"  Dost  thou  not  know  me  ? "  and  her  voice  was  soft 

As  truthful  love,  and  holy  calm  it  sounded. 
"  Know'st  thou  not  me,  who  many  a  time  and  oft 

Poured  balsam  in  thy  hurts  when  sorest  wounded  ? 
Ah,  well  thou  knowest  her,  to  whom  for  ever 

Thy  heart  in  union  pants  to  be  alhed ! 
Have  I  not  seen  the  tears  —  the  wild  endeavour 

That  even  in  boyhood  brought  me  to  thy  side  ? " 

VI. 

"  Yes !  I  have  felt  thy  influence  oft,"  I  cried. 

And  sank  on  earth  before  her,  half-adoring ; 
"  Thou  brought'st  me  rest  when  passion's  lava  tide 

Thro'  my  young  veins  like  liquid  fire  was  pouring. 
And  thou  hast  fanned,  as  with  celestial  pinions. 

In  summer's  heat,  my  parched  and  fevered  brow; 
Gav'st  me  the  choicest  gifts  of  earth's  dominions, 

And,  save  through  thee,  I  seek  no  fortune  now. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


VII. 


"  I  name  thee  not,  but  1  have  heard  thee  named, 

And  heard  thee  styled  their  own  ere  now  by  many ; 
All  eyes  believe  at  thee  their  glance  is  aimed, 

Though  tliine  etiulgence  is  too  great  for  any. 
Ah  !  I  had  many  comrades  whilst  I  wandered  — 

I  know  thee  now,  and  stand  almost  alone : 
I  veil  thy  light,  too  precious  to  be  squandered, 

And  share  the  inward  joy  I  feel  with  none." 

VIII. 

Smiling,  she  said  —  "  Thou  seest  'twas  wise  from  thee 

To  keep  the  fuller,  greater  revelation : 
Scarce  art  thou  from  grotesque  delusions  free, 

Scarce  master  of  thy  childish  first  sensation ; 
Yet  deem'st  thyself  so  far  above  thy  brothers. 

That  thou  hast  won  the  right  to  scorn  them !  Cease. 
Who  made  the  yawning  gulf  'twixt  thee  and  others  ? 

Know  —  know   thyself  —  live    with    the    world    in 
peace." 

IX. 

"  Forgive  me ! "  I  exclaimed,  "  I  meant  no  ill. 

Else  should  in  vain  my  eyes  be  disenchanted ; 
Within  my  blood  there  stirs  a  genial  will  — 

I  know  the  worth  of  all  that  thou  hast  gianted. 
That  boon  I  hold  in  trust  for  others  merely. 

Nor  shall  I  let  it  rust  within  the  gi'ound ; 
Why  sought  I  out  the  pathway  so  sincerely, 

If  not  to  guide  my  brothers  to  the  bound  ? " 


And  as  I  spoke,  upon  her  radiant  face 

Passed  a  sweet  smile,  like  breath  across  a  mirror, 
And  in  her  eyes'  bright  meaning  I  could  trace 

What  I  had  answered  well,  and  what  in  error. 


4  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

She  smiled,  and  then  my  heart  regained  its  hghtness, 
And  bounded  in  my  breast  with  rapture  high : 

Then  durst  I  pass  within  her  zone  of  brightness, 
And  gaze  upon  her  with  unquailing  eye. 


XI. 

Straightway  she  stretched  her  hand  among  the  thin 

And  watery  haze  that  round  her  presence  hovered ; 
Slowly  it  coiled  and  shrunk  her  grasp  within, 

And  lo !  the  landscape  lay  once  more  uncovered  — 
Again  mine  eye  could  scan  the  sparkling  meadow, 

I  looked  to  heaven,  and  all  was  clear  and  bright ; 
I  saw  her  hold  a  veil  without  a  shadow. 

That  undulated  round  her  in  the  hght. 


XII. 

"  I  know  thee  !  —  all  thy  weakness,  all  that  yet 

Of  good  within  thee  lives  and  glows,  I've  measured ; 
She  said  —  her  voice  I  never  may  forget  — 

"  Accept  the  gift  that  long  for  thee  was  treasured. 
Oh !  happy  he,  thrice-blessed  in  earth  and  heaven, 

Who  takes  this  gift  with  soul  serene  and  true, 
The  veil  of  song,  by  Truth's  own  fingers  given, 

Enwoven  of  sunshine  and  the  morning  dew. 


XIII. 

"  Wave  but  this  veil  on  high,  whene'er  beneath 

The  noonday  fervour  thou  and  thine  are  glowing. 
And  fragrance  of  all  flowers  around  shall  breathe. 

And  the  cool  winds  of  eve  come  freshly  blowing. 
Eartli's  cares  shall  cease  for  thee,  and  all  its  riot; 

Where  gloomed  the  grave,  a  starry  couch  be  seen ; 
The  waves  of  hfe  shall  sink  in  halcyon  quiet ; 

The  days  be  lovely  fair,  the  nights  serene." 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


XIV. 


Come  then,  my  friends,  and  whether  'neath  the  load 

Of  heavy  griefs  ye  struggle  on,  or  whether 
Your  better  destiny  shall  strew  the  road 

With  flowers,  and  golden  fruits  that  cannot  wither. 
United  let  us  move,  still  forward  striving ; 

So  while  we  live  shall  joy  our  days  illume, 
And  in  our  children's  hearts  our  love  surviving 

Shall  gladden  them,  when  we  are  in  the  tomb. 

A.    M. 

TO  THE   KIND  READER 

No  one  talks  more  than  a  poet ; 
Fain  he'd  have  the  people  know  it, 

Praise  or  blame  he  ever  loves  ; 
None  in  prose  confess  an  error, 
Yet  we  do  so,  void  of  terror. 

In  the  Muses'  silent  groves. 

What  I  erred  in,  what  corrected, 
What  I  suffered,  what  effected. 

To  this  wreath  as  flowers  belong ; 
For  the  aged  and  the  youthful. 
And  the  vicious  and  the  truthful, 

All  are  fair  when  viewed  in  song. 


SOUND,  SWEET  SONG. 

Sound,  sweet  song,  from  some  far  land. 
Sighing  softly  close  at  hand, 

Now  of  joy,  and  now  of  woe ! 

Stars  are  wont  to  glimmer  so. 
Sooner  thus  will  good  unfold  ; 
Children  young  and  children  old 

Gladly  hear  thy  numbers  flow. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE  MODERN  AMADIS. 

They  kept  me  guarded  close,  while  yet 

A  little  tiny  elf, 
And  so  I  sat,  and  did  beget 

A  world  within  myself, 
All  I  cared  to  see. 

Golden  fancy  then  unfurled 

Endless  sights  to  me. 
And  a  gallant  knight  I  grew ; 

Like  the  Prince  Pipi, 
Koamed  throughout  the  world. 

Many  a  crystal  palace  saw, 

Many  overthrew ; 
My  far-flashing  falchion  hurled 

Through  the  dragon's  maw. 
Ha !  then  I  was  a  man  ! 

Next  I  freed  in  knightly  wise 

The  Princess  Periban  ; 
Oh,  the  wonder  of  her  eyes, 

Smiling,  as  I  wooed 
Her  with  hearted  sighs  ! 

Her  kiss,  it  was  ambrosial  food, 

Glowed  like  noble  wine  ; 
With  love,  o\\,  I  was  almost  dead ! 

A  golden  haze  divine 
She  around  her  shed. 

Who  has  torn  her  from  my  sight  ? 

Can  no  spell  delay 
That  dear  vision,  stay  her  flight  ? 

Where  her  home,  oh,  say  ? 
And  thither,  which  the  way  ? 


3P 


tiu 


"  Dorilis  then  Gave  It  CMc  " 

Photogravure  from  the  painting  by  Y.  Kirchlta.  h 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


WHEN   THE   FOX    DIES    HIS   SKIN  COUNTS.^ 

We  youug  people  in  the  shade 

Sat  one  sultry  day  ; 
Cupid  came,  and  "  Dies  the  Fox ' 

With  us  sought  to  play. 

Each  one  of  my  friends  then  sat 

By  his  mistress  dear  ; 
Cupid,  blowing  out  the  torch, 

Said  :  "  The  taper's  here  ! " 

Then  we  quickly  sent  around 

The  expiring  brand  ; 
Each  one  put  it  hastily 

In  his  neighbour's  hand. 

Dorilis  then  gave  it  me, 

With  a  scoffing  jest ; 
Sudden  into  flame  it  broke. 

By  my  fingers  pressed. 

And  it  singed  my  eyes  and  face, 

Set  my  breast  on  fire ; 
Then  above  my  head  the  blaze 

Mounted  ever  higher. 

Vain  I  sought  to  put  it  out ; 

Ever  burned  the  flame  ; 
'Stead  of  dying,  soon  the  Fox 

Livelier  still  became. 

1  The  name  of  a  game  known  in  English  as  "  Jack's  Alight." 


8  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE  COQUETTE. 

O'er  the  meadows  tripped  sweet  Kitty, 
On  a  dewy  morn  in  spring, 

Like  a  lark,  her  blithesome  ditty 
Gaily,  lightly  carolling, 
So  la  la  !     Le  ralla. 

Lubin,  as  she  passed  beside  him. 
Offered  two  lambs  for  a  kiss ; 

Eoguishly  awhile  she  eyed  him. 
Tripped  away,  then  carolled  this, 
So  la  la  !     Le  ralla. 

Kibbons  red  young  Colin  proffers, 
Kobin  with  his  heart  would  wile. 

But  she  mocks  at  all  their  offers. 
Singing,  as  she  mounts  the  stile. 
So  la  la  !     Le  ralla. 


THE  WILD  ROSE. 

A  BOY  espied,  in  morning  light, 
A  little  rosebud  blowing  ; 

'Twas  so  delicate  and  bright, 

That  he  came  to  feast  his  sight. 
And  wonder  at  its  growing 

Rosebud,  rosebud,  rosebud  red. 
Rosebud  brightly  blowing ! 

"  I  will  gather  thee,"  —  he  cried,  - 

"  Rosebud  brightly  glowing  !  " 
"  Then  I'll  sting  thee,"  it  replied, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

And  you'll  quickly  start  aside 

With  the  prickle  glowing." 
Eosebud,  rosebud,  rosebud  red, 

Rosebud  brightly  blowing  ! 

But  he  plucked  it  from  the  plain. 
The  rosebud  brightly  blowing  ! 

It  turned  and  stung  him,  but  in  vain  — 

He  regarded  not  the  pain, 
Homeward  with  it  going, 

Eosebud,  rosebud,  rosebud  red, 
Eosebud  brightly  blowing ! 


THE  BEEEZE. 

The  mists  they  are  scattered. 

The  blue  sky  looks  brightly. 

And  Eolus  looses 

The  wearisome  chain ! 

The  winds,  how  they  whistle  ! 

The  steersman  is  busy  — 

Hillio-ho,  hillio-ho ! 

We  dash  through  the  billows - 

They  flash  far  behmd  us  — 

Land,  land,  boys,  again ! 


BLINDMAN'S    BUFF. 

On,  my  Theresa  dear  ! 
Thine  eyes  I  greatly  fear 

Can  through  the  bandage  see  ! 
Although  thine  eyes  are  bound. 
By  thee  I'm  quickly  found, 

And  wherefore  shouldst  thou  catch  but  me. 


lo  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Ere  long  thou  held'st  me  fast, 
With  arms  around  me  cast, 

Upon  thy  breast  I  fell ; 
Scarce  was  thy  bandage  gone, 
When  all  my  joy  was  flown. 

Thou  coldly  didst  the  blind  repel. 

He  groped  on  every  side. 
His  hmbs  he  sorely  tried, 

While  scoffs  arose  all  round ; 
If  thou  no  love  wilt  give, 
In  sadness  I  shall  hve. 

As  if  mine  eyes  remained  still  bound. 


CHRISTEL. 

My  senses  ofttimes  are  oppressed, 

Oft  stagnant  is  my  blood  ; 
But  when  by  Christel's  sight  I'm  blest 

I  feel  my  strength  renewed. 
I  see  her  here,  I  see  her  there. 

And  really  cannot  tell 
The  manner  how,  the  when,  the  where. 

The  why  I  love  her  well. 

If  with  the  merest  glance  I  view 

Her  black  and  roguish  eyes, 
And  gaze  on  her  black  eyebrows  too. 

My  spirit  upward  flies. 
Has  any  one  a  mouth  so  sweet, 

Such  love-round  cheeks  as  she  ? 
Ah,  when  the  eye  her  beauties  meet, 

It  ne'er  content  can  be. 

And  when  in  airy  German  dance 
I  clasp  her  form  divine, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  il 

So  quick  we  whirl,  so  quick  advance, 

What  rapture  then  hke  mine ! 
And  when  she's  giddy,  and  feels  warm, 

I  cradle  her,  poor  thing, 
Upon  my  breast,  and  in  mine  arm, — 

I'm  then  a  very  king ! 

And  when  she  looks  with  love  of  me, 

Forgetting  all  but  this. 
When  pressed  against  my  bosom,  she 

Exchanges  kiss  for  kiss, 
All  through  my  marrow  runs  a  thrill, 

Runs  e'en  my  foot  along  ! 
I  feel  so  well,  I  feel  so  ill, 

I  feel  so  weak,  so  strong ! 

Would  that  sucli  moments  ne'er  would  end ! 

The  day  ne'er  long  I  find ; 
Could  I  the  night  too  with  her  spend. 

E'en  then  I  should  not  mind. 
If  she  were  in  mine  arms  but  held, 

To  quench  love's  thirst  I'd  try ; 
And  could  my  torments  not  be  quell'd, 

Upon  her  breast  would  die. 


SMITTEN. 

Through  the  wood  as  I  was  roaming, 
There  a  gentle  youth  I  spied, 

Piping  sweetly  in  the  gloaming, 
Till  the  rocks  around  replied. 
So  la  la ! 

And  beside  him  down  he  drew  me, 
Called  me  fair,  and  kissed  me  then. 


12  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

"  Pipe  once  more ! "  I  said,  and  through  me 
I  his  musi 
So  la  la ! 


Thiill'd  his  music  sweet  again. 


Now  my  peace  is  flown,  and  never 
Comes  a  smile  into  mine  eye, 

And  within  my  ears  for  ever 
Rings  that  music,  and  I  sigh, 
So  la  la ! 


EESEEVATION. 

My  maiden  she  proved  false  to  me ; 
To  hate  all  joys  I  soon  began, 
Then  to  a  flowing  stream  I  ran,  — 

The  stream  ran  past  me  hastily. 

There  stood  I  fixed,  in  mute  despair ; 

My  head  swam  round  as  in  a  dream  ; 

I  well-nigh  fell  into  the  stream, 
And  earth  seemed  with  me  whirling  there. 

Sudden  I  heard  a  voice  that  cried  — 

I  had  just  turned  my  face  from  thence  — 
It  was  a  voice  to  charm  each  sense : 
"  Bew^are,  for  deep  is  yonder  tide  !  " 

A  thrill  my  blood  pervaded  now, 

I  looked,  and  saw  a  beauteous  maid  ;  — 
I  asked  her  name  —  'twas  Kate,  she  said  - 
'-'  Oh,  lovely  Kate !  how  kind  art  thou  ! 

"  From  death  I  have  been  saved  by  thee, 
'Tis  through  thee  only  that  I  live ; 
Little  'twere  life  alone  to  give, 
My  joy  in  life  then  deign  to  be ! " 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  13 

Aud  tbeu  I  told  my  sorrows  o'er, 

Her  eyes  to  earth  she  sweetly  threw ; 
I  kissed  her,  and  she  kissed  me  too. 

And  —  then  1  talked  of  death  no  more. 


RESOLVE. 

On,  on  across  the  plains  and  feel  no  dread ! 

Where  not  the  boldest  hath 
Trod  down  a  path,  which  thou  may'st  safely  tread. 

Make  for  thyself  a  path  ! 

Still  thou  my  heart,  dear  love  !     It  will  not  break 

Though  bent  awhile  it  be  ; 
And  if  it  needs  must  be,  that  it  shaU  break, 

It  breaks  not,  love,  with  thee. 


TREASURE  TROVE. 

Through  the  forest  idly, 
As  my  steps  I  bent, 

With  a  free  and  happy  heart, 
Singing  as  I  went. 

Cowering  in  the  shade  I 

Did  a  floweret  spy. 
Bright  as  any  star  in  heaven, 

Sweet  as  any  eye. 

Down  to  pluck  it  stooping. 
Thus  to  me  it  said, 
".Wlierefore  pluck  me  only 
To  wither  and  to  fade  ?  " 


14  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Up  with  its  roots  I  dug  it, 

I  bore  it  as  it  grew, 
And  in  my  garden-plot  at  home 
I  planted  it  anew  ; 

All  in  a  still  and  shady  place, 
Beside  my  home  so  dear, 

And  now  it  thanks  me  for  my  pains 
And  blossoms  all  the  year. 


THE  MUSES'  SON. 

[Goethe  quotes  the  beginning  of  this  song  in  his  Antobiog- 
raphy,  as  expressing  the  manner  in  which  his  poetical  effusions 
used  to  pour  out  from  him.] 

Through  field  and  wood  to  stray 
And  pipe  my  tuneful  lay, — 

'Tis  thus  my  days  are  passed ; 
And  all  keep  tune  with  me, 
And  move  on  in  harmony, 

And  so  on,  to  the  last. 

To  wait  I  scarce  have  power 
The  garden's  earhest  flower. 

The  tree's  first  bloom  in  spring ; 
They  hail  my  joyous  strain,  — 
When  winter  comes  again. 

Of  that  sweet  dream  I  sing. 

My  song  sounds  far  and  near. 
O'er  ice  it  echoes  clear, 

Then  winter  blossoms  bright ; 
And  when  his  blossoms  fly. 
Fresh  raptures  meet  mine  eye, 

Upon  the  well-tilled  heiglit. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  15 

Wlien  'neath  the  linden-tree. 
Young  folks  I  chance  to  see, 

I  set  them  moving  soon  ; 
His  nose  the  dull  lad  curls. 
The  formal  maiden  whirls, 

Obedient  to  my  tune. 

Wings  to  the  feet  ye  lend, 
O'er  hill  and  vale  ye  send 

The  lover  far  from  home  ; 
When  shall  I,  on  your  breast, 
Ye  kindly  Muses,  rest, 

And  cease  at  length  to  roam  ? 


RECIPEOCAL  INVITATION  TO  THE  DANCR 

THE    INDIFFERENT. 

Come  to  the  dance  with  me,  come  with  me,  fair  one ! 

Dances  a  feast-day  like  this  may  well  crown ; 
If  thou  my  sweetheart  art  not,  thou  canst  be  so, 

But  if  thou  wilt  not,  we  still  will  dance  on. 
Come  to  the  dance  with  me,  come  with  me,  fair  one  ! 

Dances  a  feast-day  Kke  this  may  well  crown. 

THE    TENDER. 

Loved  one,  without  thee,  what  then  would  all  feasts  be  ? 

Sweet  one,  without  thee,  what  then  were  the  dance  ? 
If  thou  my  sweetheart  wert  not,  I  would  dance  not, 

If  thou  art  still  so,  all  life  is  one  feast, 
Loved  one,  without  thee,  what  then  would  the  feast  be  ? 

Sweet  one,  without  thee,  what  then  were  the  dance  V 

THE    INDIFFERENT. 

Let  them  but  love,  then,  and  leave  us  the  dancing! 
Languishing  love  cannot  bear  the  glad  dance. 


i6  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Let  us  whirl  round  iu  the  waltz's  gay  measure, 
And  let  them  steal  to  the  dim-lighted  wood. 

Let  them  but  love,  then,  and  leave  us  the  dancing ! 
Languishing  love  cannot  bear  the  glad  dance. 

THE   TENDER. 

Let  them  whirl  round,  then,  and  leave  us  to  wander  I 
Wand'ring  to  love  is  a  heavenly  dance. 

Cupid,  the  near  one,  o'erhears  their  deriding. 

Vengeance  takes  suddenly,  vengeance  takes  soon. 

Let  them  whirl  round,  then,  and  leave  us  to  wander ! 
Wand'ring  to  love  is  a  heavenly  dance. 


LIKE  AND  LIKE. 

A  FAIR  bell-flower 

Sprang  up  from  the  ground, 
And  early  its  fragrance 

It  shed  all  around  ; 
A  bee  came  thither 

And  sipped  from  its  bell ;  — 
That  they  for  each  other 

Were  made,  we  see  well. 


SELF-DECEIT. 

My  neighbour's  curtain,  well  I  see, 

Is  moving  to  and  fro. 
No  doubt  she's  listening  eagerly. 

If  I'm  at  home  or  no. 

And  if  the  jealous  grudge  I  bore 

And  openly  confessed  ; 
Is  nourished  by  me  as  before, 

Witliin  my  inmost  breast. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  i? 

Alas  !  no  fancies  such  as  these 

E'er  crossed  the  dear  child's  thoughts. 

I  see  'tis  but  the  evening  breeze 
That  with  the  curtain  sports. 


DECLAEATION  OF  WAR. 

Oh,  would  I  resembled 
The  country  girls  fair, 

Who  rosy-red  ribbons 
And  yellow  hats  wear ! 

To  beheve  I  was  pretty 
I  thought  was  allowed  ; 

In  the  town  I  believed  it 
When  by  the  youth  vowed. 

Now  that  spring  hath  returned, 
All  my  joys  disappear  ; 

The  girls  of  the  country 
Have  lured  him  from  here. 

To  change  dress  and  figure. 
Was  needful,  I  found. 

My  bodice  is  longer, 
My  petticoat  round. 

My  hat  now  is  yellow, 
My  bodice  hke  snow ; 

The  clover  to  sickle 
With  others  I  go. 

Something  pretty,  ere  long 
Midst  the  troop  he  explores  ; 

The  eager  boy  signs  me 
To  go  within  doors. 


i8  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

I  bashfully  go,  — 

Who  I  am,  he  can't  trace ; 
He  pinches  my  cheeks. 

And  he  looks  in  my  face. 

The  town  girl  now  threatens 
You  maidens  with  war  ; 

Her  twofold  charms  jjledges 
Of  victory  are. 


LOVER  IN  ALL  SHAPES. 

To  be  like  a  fish, 

Brisk  and  quick  is  my  wish ; 

If  thou  cam'st  with  thy  line, 

Thou  wouldst  soon  make  me  thine, 

To  be  like  a  fish, 

Brisk  and  quick  is  my  wish. 

Oh,  were  I  a  steed  ! 

Thou  wouldst  love  me  indeed. 

Oh,  were  I  a  car 

Fit  to  bear  thee  afar  ! 

Oh,  were  I  a  steed  ! 

Thou  wouldst  love  me  indeed. 

I  would  I  were  gold 

That  thy  finger  might  hold  ! 

If  thou  boughtest  aught  then, 

I'd  return  soon  again. 

I  would  I  were  gold 

That  thy  fingers  might  hold  ! 

I  would  I  were  true, 
And  my  sweetheart  still  new ! 
To  1)0  faithful  I'd  swear, 
And  would  go  away  ne'er. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  ^  19 

I  would  I  were  true, 

And  my  sweetheart  still  new ! 

I  would  I  were  old, 
And  wrinkled  and  cold. 
So  that  if  thou  said'st  No, 
I  could  stand  such  a  blow  ! 
I  would  I  were  old. 
And  wriukled  and  cold. 

An  ape  I  would  be, 
Full  of  mischievous  glee  ; 
If  aught  came  to  vex  thee, 
I'd  plague  and  perplex  thee. 
An  ape  I  would  be. 
Full  of  mischievous  glee. 

As  a  lamb  I'd  behave. 
As  a  lion  be  brave. 
As  a  lynx  clearly  see. 
As  a  fox  cunning  be. 
As  a  lamb  I'd  behave, 
As  a  lion  be  brave. 

Whatever  I  were. 
All  on  thee  I'd  confer 
With  the  gifts  of  a  prince 
My  affection  evince. 
Whatever  I  were, 
All  on  thee  I'd  confer. 

As  nought  diff'rent  can  make  me. 
As  I  am  thou  must  take  me  ! 
If  I'm  not  good  enough. 
Thou  must  cut  thine  own  stuff. 
As  nought  diffrent  can  make  me; 
As  I  am  thou  must  take  me  ! 


20  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE  GOLDSMITH'S  APPRENTICE. 

My  neighbour,  none  can  e'er  deny, 

Is  a  most  beauteous  maid ; 
Her  shop  is  ever  in  mine  eye, 

When  working  at  my  trade. 

To  ring  and  chain  I  hammer  then 

The  wire  of  gold  assayed, 
And  think  the  while :  "  For  Kate,  oh,  when 

Will  such  a  ring  be  made  ?  " 

And  when  she  takes  her  shutters  down, 

Her  shop  at  once  invade, 
To  buy  and  haggle,  all  the  town. 

For  all  that's  there  displayed. 

I  file,  and  maybe  overfile 

The  wire  of  gold  assayed. 
My  master  grumbles  all  the  while, — 

Her  shop  the  mischief  made. 

To  ply  her  wheel  she  straight  begins 

When  not  engaged  in  trade ; 
I  know  full  well  for  what  she  spins,  — 

'Tis  hope  guides  that  dear  maid. 

Her  leg,  while  her  small  foot  treads  on. 

Is  in  my  mind  portrayed  ; 
Her  garter  I  recall  anon,  — 

/  gave  it  that  dear  maid. 

Then  to  her  hps  the  finest  thread 

Is  by  her  hand  conveyed. 
Were  /  there  only  in  its  stead, 

How  I  would  kiss  the  maid ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  21 


ANSWEES  IN  A  GAME  OF  QUESTIONS. 

THE    LADY. 

In  the  small  and  great  world  too, 

What  most  charms  a  woman's  heart  ? 
It  is  doubtless  what  is  new, 

For  its  blossoms  joy  impart ; 
Nobler  far  is  what  is  true, 

For  fresh  blossoms  it  can  shoot 

Even  in  the  time  of  fruit. 

THE    YOUNG    GENTLEMAN. 

With  the  nymphs  in  wood  and  cave 

Paris  was  acquainted  well, 
Till  Zeus  sent,  to  make  him  rave, 

Three  of  those  in  Heaven  who  dweU  ; 
And  the  choice  more  trouble  gave 

Than  e'er  fell  to  mortal  lot. 

Whether  in  old  times  or  not. 

THE    EXPERIENCED. 

Tenderly  a  woman  view, 

And  thou'lt  win  her,  take  my  word 
He  who's  quick  and  saucy  too, 

Will  of  all  men  be  preferred ; 
Who  ne'er  seems  as  if  he  knew 

If  he  pleases,  if  he  charms,  — 

He  'tis  injures,  he  'tis  harms. 

THE   CONTENTED. 

Manifold  is  human  strife, 

Human  passion,  Imman  pain  : 

Many  a  blessing  yet  is  rife, 
Many  pleasures  still  remain. 


22  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Yet  the  greatest  bliss  iu  life, 
And  the  richest  prize  we  find. 
Is  a  good,  contented  mind. 

THE   MEKRY   COUNSEL. 

He  by  whom  man's  foolish  will 

Is  each  day  reviewed  and  blamed, 
Who  when  others  fools  are  still, 

Is  himself  a  fool  proclaimed,  — 
Ne'er  at  mill  was  beast's  back  pressed 

With  a  heavier  load  than  he. 
What  I  feel  within  my  breast 

That  in  truth's  the  thing  for  me  ! 


DIFFERENT  EMOTIONS  ON  THE  SAME  SPOT. 

THE     MAIDEN. 

I've  seen  him  before  me ! 
Wliat  rapture  steals  o'er  me 

Oh,  heavenly  sight ! 
He's  coming  to  meet  me  ; 
Perplexed,  I  retreat  me, 

With  shame  take  to  flight. 
My  mind  seems  to  wander  ! 
Ye  rocks  and  trees  yonder, 

Conceal  ye  my  rapture. 

Conceal  my  delight ! 

THE  YOUTH. 

'Tis  here  I  must  find  her, 
'Twas  here  she  enshrined  her, 

Here  vanished  from  sight. 
She  came,  as  to  meet  me. 
Then  fearing  to  greet  me, 

With  shame  took  to  flight. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  23 

Is't  hope  ?     Do  1  wauder  ? 
Ye  rocks  and  trees  youder, 

Disclose  ye  the  loved  oue, 

Disclose  my  delight ! 

THE    LANGUISHING. 

O'er  my  sad  fate  I  sorrow, 
To  each  dewy  morrow, 

Veiled  here  from  man's  sight. 
By  the  many  mistaken. 
Unknown  and  forsaken, 

Here  wing  I  my  flight ! 
Compassionate  spirit ! 
Let  none  ever  hear  it,  — 

Conceal  my  affliction, 

Conceal  thy  delight ! 

THE    HUNTER. 

To-day  I'm  rewarded ; 
Kich  booty's  afforded 

By  Fortune  so  bright. 
My  servant,  the  pheasants, 
And  hares  fit  for  presents. 

Takes  homeward  at  night. 
Here  see  I  enraptured 
In  nets  the  birds  captured !  — 

Long  hfe  to  the  hunter  ! 

Long  live  his  delight ! 


THE   MISANTHROPE. 

At  first  awhile  sits  he. 

With  calm,  unruffled  brow ; 
His  features  then  I  see, 
Distorted  hideously,  — 


> 


24  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

An  owl's  they  might  be  now. 
What  is  it,  asketh  thou  ? 
Is't  love,  or  is't  ennui  ? 
'Tis  both  at  once,  I  vow. 


Late  resounds  the  early  strain ; 
Weal  and  woe  in  song  remain. 


DIFFERENT   THREATS. 

I  ONCE  into  a  forest  far 

My  maiden  went  to  seek, 
And  fell  upon  her  neck,  when  :  "  Ah  !  " 

She  threatened,  "  I  will  shriek  ! " 

Then  cried  I  haughtily  :  "  I'll  crush 
The  man  that  dares  come  near  thee  ! " 
"  Hush  !  "  whispered  she  :  "  my  loved  one,  hush  ! 
Or  else  they'll  overhear  thee  ! " 


WHO'LL   BUY   CUPID? 

Of  all  the  wares  so  pretty 

That  come  into  the  city. 

There's  none  are  so  dehcious. 

There's  none  are  half  so  precious, 

As  those  which  we  are  bringing. 

Oh,  listen  to  our  singing  ! 

Young  loves  to  sell  ?  young  loves  to  sell ! 

My  pretty  loves  who'll  buy  ? 

First  look  you  at  the  oldest, 
The  wautonest,  the  boldest ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  2$ 

So  loosely  goes  he  hoppiug, 

From  tree  and  thicket  dropping, 

Then  flies  aloft  so  sprightly  ! 

We  dare  but  praise  him  lightly  ! 

The  fickle  rogue  !     Young  loves  to  ::,cll ! 

My  pretty  loves  who'll  buy  ? 

Now  see  this  little  creature  — 

How  modest  seems  his  feature ! 

He  nestles  so  demurely, 

You'd  think  him  safer  surely ; 

And  yet  for  all  his  shyness, 

There's  danger  in  his  slyness, 

The  cunning  rogue  !     Young  loves  to  sell ! 

My  pretty  loves  who'll  buy  ? 

C)h,  come  and  see  this  lovelet, 
This  little  turtle-dovelet ! 
The  maidens  that  are  neatest, 
The  tenderest  and  sweetest. 
Should  buy  it  to  amuse  'em, 
And  nurse  it  in  their  bosom. 
The  httle  pet !     Young  loves  to  sell ! 
My  pretty  loves  who'll  buy  ? 

We  need  not  bid  you  buy  them, 

They're  here,  if  you  will  try  them. 

They  like  to  change  their  cages ; 

But  for  their  proving  sages 

No  warrant  will  we  utter  — 

They  all  have  wings  to  flutter, 

The  pretty  things  !     Young  loves  to  sell ' 

Such  beauties  !     Come  and  buy  ! 


26  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


TEUE   ENJOYMENT. 

Vainly  wouldst  thou,  to  gain  a  heart, 

Heap  up  a  maiden's  lap  with  gold ; 
The  joys  of  love  thou  must  impart, 

Wouldst  thou  e'er  see  those  joys  unfold. 
The  voices  of  the  throng  gold  buys. 

No  single  heart  'twill  win  for  thee ; 
Wouldst  thou  a  maiden  make  thy  prize, 

Thyself  alone  the  bribe  must  be. 

If  by  no  sacred  tie  thou'rt  bound, 

Oh,  youth,  thou  must  thyself  restrain ! 
Well  may  true  liberty  be  found. 

Though  man  may  seem  to  wear  a  chain. 
Let  one  alone  inflame  thee  e'er. 

And  if  her  heart  with  love  o'erflows, 
Let  tenderness  unite  you  there. 

If  duty's  self  no  fetter  knows. 

First  feel,  oh,  youth  !     A  girl  then  find 

Worthy  thy  choice,  —  let  her  choose  thee, 
In  body  fair,  and  fair  in  mind, 

And  then  thou  wilt  be  blest,  like  me. 
I  who  have  made  this  art  mine  own, 

A  girl  have  chosen  such  as  this ; 
The  blessing  of  the  priest  alone 

Is  wanting  to  complete  our  bliss. 

Nought  but  my  rapture  is  her  guide. 
Only  for  me  she  cares  to  please,  — 

Ne'er  wanton  save  when  by  my  side. 
And  modest  wlien  the  world  she  sees. 

That  time  our  glow  may  never  chill. 
She  yields  no  right  through  frailty ; 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  27 

Her  favour  is  a  favour  still, 
And  I  must  ever  grateful  be. 

Yet  I'm  content,  and  full  of  joy, 

If  she'll  but  grant  her  smile  so  sweet, 
Or  if  at  table  she'll  employ, 

To  pillow  hers,  her  lover's  feet ; 
Give  me  the  apple  that  she  bit. 

The  glass  from  which  she  drank,  bestow. 
And  when  my  kiss  so  orders  it. 

Her  bosom,  veiled  till  then,  will  show. 

And  when  she  wills  of  love  to  speak, 

In  fond  and  silent  hours  of  bliss. 
Words  from  her  mouth  are  all  I  seek, 

Nought  else  I  crave,  —  not  e'en  a  kiss. 
With  what  a  soul  her  mind  is  fraught, 

Wreathed  rouud  with  charms  unceasingly  ! 
She's  perfect,  —  and  she  fails  in  nought 

Save  in  her  deigning  to  love  me. 

My  reverence  throws  me  at  her  feet. 

My  louging  throws  me  on  her  breast ; 
This,  youth,  is  rapture  true  and  sweet ; 

Be  wise,  thus  seeking  to  be  blest. 
When  death  shall  take  thee  from  her  side, 

To  join  th'  angelic  choir  above, 
In  heaven's  bright  mansions  to  abide,  — 

No  diff'rence  at  the  change  thou'lt  prove. 


MAIDEN   WISHES. 

What  pleasure  to  me 
A  bridegroom  would  be  ! 
When  married  we  are, 
They  call  us  mamma. 


28  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

No  need  then  to  sew, 
To  school  we  ne'er  go  ; 
Command  uncontrolled, 
Have  maids  whom  to  scold ; 
Choose  clothes  at  our  ease. 
Of  what  tradesmen  we  please ; 
Walk  freely  about. 
And  go  to  each  rout, 
And  unrestrained  are 
By  papa  or  mamma. 


THE   FAEEWELL. 

[Probably  addressed  to  his  mistress  Frederica.] 

Let  mine  eye  the  farewell  say. 
That  my  lips  can  utter  ne'er ; 

Fain  I'd  be  a  man  to-day, 

Yet  'tis  hard,  oh,  hard  to  bear ! 

Mournful  in  an  hour  like  this 

Is  love's  sweetest  pledge,  I  ween ; 

Cold  upon  thy  mouth  the  kiss, 
Faint  thy  fingers'  pressure  e'en. 

Oh,  what  rapture  to  my  heart 
Used  each  stolen  kiss  to  bring ! 

As  the  violets  joy  impart. 
Gathered  in  the  early  spring. 

Now  no  garlands  I  entwine, 
Now  no  roses  pluck  for  thee, 

Though  'tis  springtime,  Fanny  mine, 
Dreary  autumn  'tis  to  me ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  29 


MOTIVES. 

If  to  a  girl  who  loves  us  truly 
Her  mother  gives  iustructiou  July 
In  virtue,  duty,  and  what  not,  — 
And  if  she  hearkens  ne'er  a  jot, 
But  witli  fresh-strengthened  longing  flies 
To  meet  our  kiss  that  seems  to  burn,  — 
Caprice  has  just  as  much  concern 
As  love  in  her  bold  enterprise. 

But  if  her  mother  can  succeed 
In  gaining  for  her  maxims  heed. 
And  softening  the  girl's  heart  too. 
So  that  she  coyly  shuns  our  view,  — 
The  heart  of  youth  she  knows  but  ill ; 
For  when  a  maiden  is  thus  stern. 
Virtue  in  truth  has  less  concern 
In  this,  than  an  inconstant  will. 


THE   LOVELY   NIGHT. 

From  the  cot,  where  softly  sleeping 

Lies  my  bosom's  love,  I  go, 
And  with  noiseless  footstep  creeping, 

Thread  the  dusty  wood,  when  lo ! 
Bursts  the  moon  through  glade  and  greenwood, 

Soft  the  herald  zephyrs  play, 
And  the  waving  birches  sprinkle 

Sweetest  incense  on  my  way. 

How  I  revel  in  the  coolness 

Of  this  beauteous  summer  night 
Stilly  dreaming  here  the  fulness 

Of  the  panting  soul's  dehght ! 


so  POEMS   OF  GOETHE 

Words  can  paint  not  what  my  bliss  is, 
Yet,  kind  heaven,  I'd  yield  to  thee 

Nights  a  thousand,  fair  as  this  is, 
Would  my  love  give  one  to  me ! 


LOVE'S   DEEAM. 

Thou  oft  in  dreams  hast  seen  us  stand 
Before  the  altar  hand  in  hand. 
Thyself  the  bride,  the  bridegi'oom  I. 
Oft  on  thy  hps,  when  none  were  watching, 
I've  hung,  unnumbered  kisses  snatching. 
In  hours  of  waking  ecstasy. 

The  purest  rapture  that  we  cherished. 
The  bliss  of  hours  so  golden,  perished 
Even  with  the  hour  that  saw  it  rise. 
What  reck  that  mine  have  been  such  blisses  ? 
Fleeting  as  dreams  are  fondest  kisses. 
And  like  a  kiss  all  pleasure  dies. 


LIVING   REMEMBRANCE. 

Half  vexed,  half  pleased,  thy  love  wHl  feel, 
Shouldst  thou  her  knot  or  ribbon  steal ; 
To  thee  they're  much  —  I  won't  conceal ; 

Such  self-deceit  may  pardoned  })e  ; 
A  veil,  a  kerchief,  garter,  rings. 
In  truth  are  no  more  trifling  things, 

But  still  they're  not  enough  for  me. 

She  who  is  dearest  to  my  heart, 
Gave  me,  with  well  dissembled  smart. 
Of  her  own  life  a  living  part. 

No  charm  in  auglit  beside  I  trace ; 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  31 

How  do  I  scorn  thy  paltry  ware ! 
A  lock  she  gave  me  of  the  hair 

That  wantons  o'er  her  beauteous  face. 

If,  loved  one,  we  must  severed  be, 
Wouldst  thou  not  wholly  fly  from  me, 
I  still  possess  this  legacy, 

To  look  at,  and  to  kiss  in  play,  — 
My  fate  is  to  the  hair's  allied, 
We  used  to  woo  her  v^dth  like  pride, 

And  now  we  both  are  far  away. 

Her  charms  witli  equal  joy  we  pressed. 
Her  smiling  cheeks  anon  caressed. 
Lured  onward  by  a  yearning  blest, 

Upon  her  heaving  bosom  fell. 
Oh,  rival,  free  from  envy's  sway, 
Thou  precious  gift,  thou  beauteous  prey, 

Kemain  my  joy  and  bliss  to  tell ! 


THE   BLISS   OF   ABSENCE. 

'Tis  sweet  for  him,  the  livelong  day  that  lies, 
Wrapt  in  the  heaven  of  his  dear  lady's  eyes, 

Whose  dreams  her  image  blesseth  evermore. 
Love  knoweth  not  a  sharper  joy  than  this, 
Yet  greater,  purer,  nobler  is  the  bliss, 

To  be  afar  from  her  whom  we  adore ! 

Distance  and  Time,  eternal  powers,  that  be 
Still,  like  the  stars,  o'erruling  secretly, 

Cradle  this  tempest  of  the  blood  to  peace. 
Calm  grows  my  soul,  and  calmer  every  hour. 
Yet  daily  feels  my  heart  a  springing  power. 

And  daily  finds  my  happiness  increase. 


32  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

All  times  she  lives  within  my  heart  and  brain, 
Yet  can  I  think  of  her  without  a  pain, 

My  spirit  soars  away  serene  and  free, 
And,  by  the  strength  of  its  divine  emotion, 
Transforms  its  love  to  all  a  saint's  devotion, 

Eefines  desire  into  idolatry. 

The  lightest  cloudlet  that  doth  fleck  the  sky, 
And  floats  along  the  sunshine  airily, 

More  lightly  in  its  beauty  floateth  never. 
Than  doth  my  heart,  with  tranquil  joy  elate. 
By  fear  untouched,  for  jealousy  too  great, 

I  love,  oh,  yes,  I  love  —  I  love  her  ever. 


TO   LUNA. 

Sister  of  the  earliest  hght, 
Type  of  loveliness  in  sorrow. 
Silver  mists  thy  radiance  borrow, 
Even  as  they  cross  thy  sight. 
When  thou  comest  to  the  sky. 
In  their  dusky  hollows  waken. 
Spirits  that  are  sad,  forsaken, 
Bii-ds  that  shun  the  day,  and  I. 

Looking  downward  far  and  wide, 
Hidden  things  thou  dost  discover. 
Luna  !  help  a  hapless  lover, 
Lift  him  kindly  to  thy  side  ! 
Aided  by  thy  friendly  beams, 
Let  him,  through  the  lattice  peeping. 
Look  into  the  room  where,  sleeping, 
Lies  the  maiden  of  his  dreams. 

Ah,  I  see  her !     Now  I  gaze, 
Bending  in  a  trance  Elysian, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  33 

And  I  strain  my  inmost  vision, 
And  I  gather  all  thy  rays. 
Bright  and  brighter  yet  I  see 
Charms  no  envious  robes  encumber ; 
And  she  draws  me  to  her  slumber 
As  Endymion  once  drew  thee. 


THE   WEDDING   NIGHT. 

Within  the  chamber,  far  away 

From  the  glad  feast,  sits  love  in  dread 
Lest  guests  disturb,  in  wanton  play, 

The  silence  of  the  bridal  bed. 
His  torch's  pale  flame  serves  to  gild 

The  scene  with  mystic  sacred  glow, 
The  room  with  incense-clouds  is  filled. 

That  he  may  perfect  rapture  know. 

How  beats  thy  heart,  when  thou  dost  hear 

The  chimes  that  warn  thy  guests  to  fly  1 
How  glow'st  thou  for  those  lips  so  dear, 

That  soon  are  mute,  and  nought  deny ! 
With  her  into  the  holy  place 

Thou  hast'nest  then  to  perfect  all ; 
The  fire  the  warder's  hands  embrace, 

Grows,  hke  a  night-light,  dim  and  smaU. 

How  heaves  the  bosom,  and  how  burns 

Her  face  at  every  fervent  kiss ! 
Her  coldness  now  to  trembhng  turns. 

Thy  daring  now  a  duty  is. 
Love  helps  thee  to  undress  her  fast. 

But  thou  art  twice  as  fast  as  he ; 
And  then  he  shuts  both  eyes  at  last 

With  sly  and  roguish  modesty. 


34  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


MISCHIEVOUS   JOY. 

As  a  butterfly  renewed, 

When  in  life  I  breathed  my  last, 
To  the  spots  my  flight  I  wing, 
Scenes  of  heavenly  rapture  past, 
Over  meadows  to  the  spring, 
Eound  the  hill,  and  through  the  wood. 

Soon  a  tender  pair  I  spy. 

And  I  look  down  from  my  seat 

On  the  beauteous  maiden's  head  — 
When  embodied  there  I  meet 
All  I  lost  as  soon  as  dead, 
Happy  as  before  am  I. 

Him  she  clasps  with  silent  smile, 
And  his  mouth  the  hour  improves. 

Sent  by  kindly  deities  ; 
First  from  breast  to  mouth  it  roves, 
Then  from  mouth  to  hands  it  flies. 
And  I  round  him  sport  the  while. 

And  she  sees  me  hov'ring  near ; 
Trembling  at  her  lover's  rapture. 
Up  she  springs  —  I  fly  away. 
"  Dearest !  let's  the  insect  capture  ! 
Come !  I  long  to  make  my  prey 
Yonder  pretty  little  dear  ! " 


NOVEMBER    SONG. 

To  the  great  archer  —  not  to  him 
To  meet  whom  flies  the  sun, 

And  wlio  is  wont  his  features  dim 
With  clouds  to  overrun  — 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  35 

But  to  the  boy  be  vowed  these  rhymes, 

Who  'uiougst  the  roses  plays, 
Wlio  hears  us,  and  at  proper  times 

To  pierce  fair  hearts  essays. 

Through  him  the  gloomy  winter  night. 

Of  yore  so  cold  and  drear, 
Brings  many  a  loved  friend  to  our  sight, 

And  many  a  woman  dear. 

Henceforward  shall  his  image  fair 

Stand  in  yon  starry  skies. 
And,  ever  mild  and  gi-acious  there, 

Alternate  set  and  rise. 


TO   THE   CHOSEN    ONE. 

[This  sweet  song  is  doubtless  one  of  those  addressed  to  Frederica.] 

Hand  in  hand,  and  lip  to  lip ! 

Oh,  be  faithful,  maiden  dear ! 
Fare  thee  well !  thy  lover's  ship 

I'ast  full  many  a  rock  must  steer ; 
But  should  he  the  haven  see. 

When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  break, 
And  be  happy,  reft  of  thee,  — 

May  the  gods  fierce  vengeance  take ! 

Boldly  dared  is  well-nigh  won  ! 

Half  my  task  is  solved  aright; 
Every  star's  to  me  a  sun. 

Only  cowards  deem  it  night. 
Stood  I  idly  by  thy  side, 

Sorrow  still  would  sadden  me ; 
But  when  seas  our  patli  divide, 

Gladly  toil  I,  —  toil  for  thee  ! 


36  POEA\S  OF   GOETHE 

Now  the  valley  I  perceive, 

Where  together  we  will  go, 
And  the  streamlet  watch  each  eve, 

Ghduig  peacefully  below. 
Oh,  the  poplars  on  you  spot ! 

Oh,  the  beech-trees  in  yon  grove  ! 
And  behind  we'll  build  a  cot, 

Where  to  taste  the  joys  of  love! 


FIRST    LOSS. 

Ah  !  who'll  ever  those  days  restore, 

Those  bright  days  of  early  love ! 
Who'll  one  hour  again  concede, 

Of  that  time  so  fondly  cherished ! 
Silently  my  wounds  I  feed. 
And  with  wailing  evermore 

Sorrow  o'er  each  joy  now  perished. 
Ah  !  who'll  e'er  the  days  restore 

Of  that  time  so  fondly  cherished  ! 


APPARENT   DEATH. 

Weep,  maiden,  weep  here  o'er  the  tomb  of  Love ; 

He  died  of  notliing  —  by  mere  chance  was  slain. 
But  is  he  really  dead  ?  —  oh,  that  I  cannot  prove  : 

A  nothing,  a  mere  chance,  oft  gives  him  life  again. 


AFTER  -  SENSATIONS. 

When  the  vine  again  is  blowing, 

Then  the  wine  moves  in  the  cask ; 
When  the  rose  again  is  glowing, 

Wherefore  should  I  feel  oppressed  ? 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  37 

Down  my  cheeks  run  tears  all-burning, 

If  I  do,  or  leave  my  task ; 
I  but  feel  a  speechless  yearning, 

That  pervades  my  inmost  breast. 

But  at  length  I  see  the  reason, 

When  the  question  I  would  ask: 
'Twas  in  such  a  beauteous  season, 
Doris  glowed  to  make  me  blest ! 


PRESENCE. 

All  things  give  token  of  thee  ! 

As  soon  as  the  bright  sun  is  shining, 

Thou  too  wilt  follow,  I  trust. 

Wlien  in  the  garden  thou  walkest. 
Thou  then  art  the  rose  of  all  roses, 
Lily  of  lilies  as  well. 

When  thou  dost  move  in  the  dance. 
Then  each  constellation  moves  also ; 
With  thee  and  round  thee  they  move. 

Night !  oh,  what  bliss  were  the  night ! 
For  then  thou  o'ershadow'st  the  lustre, 
Dazzhng  and  fair,  of  the  moon. 

Dazzling  and  beauteous  art  thou. 

And  flowers,  and  moon,  and  the  planets 

Homage  pay.  Sun,  but  to  thee. 

Sun  !  to  me  also  be  thou 

Creator  of  days  bright  and  glorious ; 

Life  and  Eternity  this  ! 


38  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


SEPAEATIOK 

I  THINK  of  thee  whene'er  the  sun  is  glowing 

Upon  the  lake ; 
Of  thee,  when  in  the  crystal  fountain  flowing 

The  moonbeams  shake. 

I  see  thee  when  the  wanton  wind  is  busy, 

And  dust-clouds  rise ; 
In  the  deep  night,  when  o'er  the  bridge  so  dizzy 

The  wanderer  hies. 

I  hear  thee  when  the  waves,  with  hollow  roaring. 

Gush  forth  their  fill ; 
Often  along  the  heath  I  go  exploring, 

When  all  is  still. 

I  am  with  thee !     Though  far  thou  art  and  darkling, 

Yet  art  thou  near. 
The  sun  goes  down,  the  stars  will  soon  be  sparkling  - 

Oh,  wert  thou  here. 


TO   THE   DISTANT    ONE. 

And  have  I  lost  thee  evermore. 

Hast  thou,  oh,  fair  one,  from  me  flown  ? 
Still  in  mine  ear  sounds,  as  of  yore, 

Thine  every  word,  thine  every  tone. 

As  when  at  morn  the  wanderer's  eye 
Attempts  to  pierce  the  air  in  vain, 

Wlien,  hidden  in  the  azure  sky, 

The  lark  high  o'er  him  chants  his  strain 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  39 

So  do  I  cast  my  troubled  gaze 

Through  bush,  through  forest,  o'er  the  lea ; 
Thou  art  iuvoked  by  all  my  lays  ; 

Oh,  come  then,  loved  oue,  back  to  me ! 


BY   THE  RIVER 

Flow  on,  ye  lays  so  loved,  so  fair, 
On  to  Oblivion's  ocean  flow  ! 

May  no  rapt  boy  recall  you  e'er. 
No  maiden  in  her  beauty's  glow ! 

My  love  alone  was  then  your  theme. 
But  now  she  scorns  my  passion  true. 

Ye  were  but  written  in  the  stream  ; 
As  it  flows  on,  then  flow  ye  too  ! 


THE   EXCHANGE. 

The  stones  in  the  streamlet  I  make  my  bright  pillow. 
And  open  my  arms  to  the  swift-rolling  billow. 

That  lovingly  hastens  to  fall  on  my  breast. 
Then  fickleness  soon  bids  it  onwards  be  flowing ; 
A  second  draws  nigh,  its  caresses  bestowing, — 

And  so  by  a  twofold  enjoyment  I'm  blest. 

And  yet  thou  art  trailing  in  sorrow  and  sadness 
The  moments  that  life,  as  it  flies,  gave  for  gladness. 

Because  by  thy  love  thou'rt  remembered  no  more ! 
Oh,  call  back  to  mind  former  days  and  their  blisses ! 
The  lips  of  the  second  will  give  as  sweet  kisses 

As  any  the  lips  of  the  first  gave  before  ! 


40  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


FAEEWELL. 

To  break  one's  word  is  pleasure-fraught, 

To  do  one's  duty  gives  a  smart ; 
AVhile  man,  alas  !  will  promise  nought, 

That  is  repugnant  to  his  heart. 

Using  some  magic  strain  of  yore, 

Thou  lurest  him,  when  scarcely  calm, 
On  to  sweet  folly's  fragile  bark  once  more, 

Renewing,  doubhng  chance  of  harm. 

Why  seek  to  hide  thyself  from  me  ? 

Fly  not  my  sight  —  be  open  then  ? 
Known  late  or  early  it  must  be. 

And  here  thou  hast  thy  word  again. 

My  duty  is  fulfilled  to-day. 

No  longer  will  I  guard  thee  from  surprise ; 
But,  oh,  forgive  the  friend  who  from  thee  turns  away, 

And  to  himself  for  refuge  fhes ! 


WELCOME   AND   DEPAETUEE. 

[Another  of  the  love-songs  addressed  to  Frederica.] 

To  horse  !  —  away,  o'er  hill  and  steep ! 

Into  the  saddle  blithe  I  sprung ; 
The  eve  was  cradling  earth  to  sleep. 

And  night  upon  the  mountain  hung. 
With  robes  of  mist  around  him  set, 

The  oak  like  some  huge  giant  stood, 
While  witli  its  liundred  eyes  of  jet, 

Peered  darkness  from  the  tangled  wood. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  41 

Amidst  a  bank  of  clouds,  the  moon 

A  sad  and  troubled  glimmer  shed ; 
The  wind  its  chilly  wings  unclosed, 

And  whistled  wildly  round  my  head. 
Night  framed  a  thousand  phantoms  dire, 

Yet  did  I  never  droop  nor  start ; 
Within  my  veins  what  living  fire ! 

What  quenchless  glow  within  my  heart ! 

We  met ;  and  from  thy  glance  a  tide 

Of  stifling  joy  flowed  into  me : 
My  heart  was  wholly  by  thy  side, 

My  every  breath  was  breathed  for  thee. 
A  blush  was  there,  as  if  thy  cheek 

The  gentlest  hues  of  spring  had  caught, 
And  smiles  so  kind  for  me  !  —  Great  powers ! 

I  hoped,  yet  I  deserved  them  not !  / 

But  morning  came  to  end  my  bliss ; 

A  long,  a  sad  farewell  we  took ; 
What  joy  —  what  rapture  in  thy  kiss, 

What  depth  of  anguish  in  thy  look ! 
I  left  thee,  sweet !  but  after  me, 

Thine  eyes  through  tears  looked  from  above ; 
Yet  to  be  loved  —  what  ecstasy  ! 

What  ecstasy,  ye  gods,  to  love ! 


NEW   LOVE,   NEW   LIFE. 
[Written  at  the  time  of  Goethe's  connection  with  Lili.] 

Heart  !  my  heart !  what  means  this  feeling  ? 

What  oppresseth  thee  so  sore  ? 
What  strange  life  is  o'er  me  stealing ! 

I  acknowledge  thee  no  more, 


42  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Fled  is  all  that  gave  thee  gladness, 
Fled  the  cause  of  all  thy  sadness, 

Fled  thy  peace,  thine  industry  — 

Ah,  why  suffer  it  to  be  ? 

Say,  do  beauty's  graces  youthful, 
Does  this  form  so  fair  and  bright, 

Does  this  gaze,  so  kind,  so  truthful, 
Chain  thee  with  unceasing  might  ? 

Would  I  tear  me  from  her  boldly. 

Courage  take,  and  fly  her  coldly. 
Back  to  her  I'm  forthwith  led 
By  the  path  I  seek  to  tread. 

By  a  thread  I  ne'er  can  sever. 

For  'tis  'twined  with  magic  skill, 
Doth  the  cruel  maid  for  ever 

Hold  me  fast  against  my  will. 
Wliile  those  magic  charms  confine  me. 
To  her  will  I  must  resign  me. 

Ah,  the  change  in  truth  is  great ! 

Love  !  kind  love  !  release  me  straight ! 


^o^ 


TO   BELINDA. 

[This  .son£^  was  also  written  for  Lili.  Goethe  mentions,  at  the 
end  of  his  Autobiograpliy,  that  he  overheard  her  singing  it  one 
evening  after  he  had  taken  his  last  farewell  of  her.] 

With  resistless  power  why  dost  thou  press  me 

Into  scenes  so  bright  ? 
Had  I  not  —  good  youth  —  so  much  to  bless  me 

In  the  lonely  night  ? 

In  my  little  chamber  close  I  found  me, 

In  the  moon's  cold  beams ; 
And  there  quivering  light  fell  softly  round  me, 

Wliile  I  lay  in  dreams. 


POE.MS  OF  GOETHE  43 

And  by  hours  of  pure  unmingled  pleasure, 

All  my  dreams  were  blest, 
While  1  felt  her  image,  as  a  treasure, 

Deep  within  my  breast. 

Is  it  I,  she  at  the  table  places, 

'Mid  so  many  lights  ? 
Yes,  to  meet  intolerable  faces. 

She  her  slave  invites. 

Ah  !  the  Spring's  fresh  fields  no  longer  cheer  me, 

Flowers  no  sweetness  bring 
Angel,  where  thou  art,  all  sweets  are  near  me,  — 

Love,  Nature,  and  Spring. 


WITH    AN   EMBROTDEKED   RIBBON. 

Little  flowerets,  little  leaflets. 

Have  they  woven  with  fairy  hand, 

Playful  sunny  elves  of  springtide, 
Lightly  called  at  my  command. 

Zephyr,  bear  it  on  thy  pinions, 
Drop  it  on  my  darling's  dress, 

So  she'll  pass  before  the  mirror 
In  her  double  loveliness. 

She,  of  roses  still  the  fairest, 
Ro.ses  shall  around  her  see ; 

Give  me  but  one  look,  my  dearest, 
And  I  ask  no  more  of  thee. 

Feel  but  what  this  heart  is  feeling  — 
Frankly  place  thy  hand  in  mine  — 

Trust  me,  love,  the  tie  which  binds  us. 
Is  no  fragile  rosy  twiue. 


44  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


SECOND   LIFE. 

After  life's  departing  sigh, 

To  the  spots  I  loved  most  dearly, 

In  the  sunshine  and  the  shadow. 

By  the  fountain  weUing  clearly, 

Through  the  wood  and  o'er  the  meadow. 

Flit  I  like  a  butterfly. 

There  a  gentle  pair  I  spy. 
Round  the  maiden's  tresses  flying, 
From  her  chaplet  I  discover 
All  that  I  had  lost  in  dying, 
Still  with  her  and  with  her  lover, 
Who  so  happy  then  as  I  ? 

For  she  smiles  with  laughing  eyes ; 
And  his  lips  to  her  he  presses, 
Vows  of  passion  interchanging. 
Stifling  her  with  sweet  caresses, 
O'er  her  budding  beauties  ranging ; 
And  around  the  twain  I  fly. 

And  she  sees  me  fluttering  nigh ; 

And  beneath  his  ardour  trembling, 

Starts  she  up  —  then  off  I  hover. 
"  Look  there,  dearest ! "     Thus  dissembling, 

Speaks  the  maiden  to  her  lover  — 
"  Come  and  catch  that  butterfly  ! " 


TO   MY   MISTRESS. 

All  that's  lovely  speaks  of  thee  ! 

When  the  glorious  sun  appeareth, 
'Tis  thy  harbinger  to  me  : 

Only  thus  he  cheereth. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  45 

In  the  garden  where  thou  go'st, 

There  art  thou  the  rose  of  roses, 
First  of  HUes,  fragranfe  most 

Of  the  fragrant  posies. 

When  thou  movest  in  the  dance, 
All  the  stars  with  thee  are  moving 

And  around  thee  gleam  and  glance. 
Never  tired  of  loving. 

Night !  —  and  would  the  night  were  here  ! 

Yet  the  moon  would  lose  her  duty ; 
Though  her  sheen  be  soft  and  clear, 

Softer  is  thy  beauty  ! 

Fair,  and  kind,  and  gentle  one ! 

Do  not  moon,  and  stars,  and  flowers 
Pay  that  homage  to  their  sun, 

That  we  pay  to  ours  ? 

Sun  of  mine,  that  art  so  dear  — 

Sun,  that  art  above  all  sorrow ! 
Shine,  I  pray  thee,  on  me  here 

Till  the  eternal  morrow ! 


FLOWER  -  SALUTE. 

Tins  nosegay,  —  'twas  /  dressed  it. 
Greets  thee  a  thousand  times ! 

Oft  stooped  I,  and  caressed  it, 
Ah  !  full  a  thousand  times, 

And  'gainst  my  bosom  pressed  it, 
A  hundred  thousand  times  ! 


46  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


WITH  A  GOLDEN  NECKLACE. 

Accept,  dear  maid,  this  little  token, 
A  supple  chain  that  fain  would  lie, 

And  keep  its  tiny  hnks  unbroken 
Upon  a  neck  of  ivory. 

Pray,  then,  exalt  it  to  this  duty. 

And  change  its  humbleness  to  pride ; 

By  day  it  will  adorn  your  beauty. 
By  night  'tis  quickly  laid  aside. 

But  if  another  hand  should  proffer 
A  chain  of  weightier,  closer  kind. 

Think  twice  ere  you  accept  the  ofifer ; 
For  there  are  chains  will  not  unbind. 


MAY  SONG. 

How  gloriously  gleameth 

All  nature  to  me ! 
How  bright  the  sun  beameth. 

How  fresh  is  the  lea ! 

White  blossoms  are  bursting 
The  thickets  among, 

And  all  the  gay  greenwood 
Is  ringing  with  song  ! 

There's  radiance  and  rapture 
That  nought  can  destroy, 

0  earth,  in  thy  sunshine, 
0  heart,  in  thy  joy  ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  47 

0  love  !  thou  enchanter, 

So  golden  and  briglit  — 
Like  the  red  clouds  of  morning 

That  rest  on  yon  height ;  — 

It  is  thou  that  art  clothing 

The  fields  and  the  bowers, 
And  everywhere  breathing 

The  incense  of  flowers  ! 

0  maiden  !  dear  maiden  ! 
How  well  I  love  thee  — 

Thine  eye,  how  it  kindles 
In  answer  to  me  ! 

Oh  !  well  the  lark  loveth 

Its  song  'midst  the  blue  ; 
Oh,  gladly  the  flowerets 

Expand  to  the  dew. 

And  so  do  I  love  thee ; 
For  all  that  is  best, 

1  draw  from  thy  beauty 

To  gladden  my  breast ! 

And  all  ray  heart's  music 

Is  thrilling  for  thee  ! 
Be  evermore  blest,  love, 

And  loving  to  me  ! 


48  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


ON  THE  LAKE. 

[This  little  poem  was  composed  during  a  tour  in  Switzerland  in 
1775.  Several  others  in  this  series  belong  to  the  same  period,  be- 
ing that  when  Goethe's  passion  for  Anna  Elizabeth  Schonemaun, 
the  Lili  of  his  poems,  was  at  its  height.] 

And  here  I  drink  new  blood,  fresh  food 

From  world  so  free,  so  blest ; 
How  sweet  is  nature  and  how  good 

Who  holds  me  to  her  breast ! 


The  waves  are  cradling  up  our  boat, 
The  oars  are  beating  time  ; 

Mountains  we  meet  that  seem  afloat 
In  heav'nly  clouds  sublime. 

Wliy,  my  eye,  art  downward  turning  ? 
Golden  dreams,  are  ye  returning  ? 
Dream,  though  gold,  I  thee  repel ; 
Love  and  hfe  here  also  dwell. 

'Neath  the  waves  are  sinking 
Stars  from  heaven  sparkling  ; 

Soft  white  mists  are  drinking. 
Distance  towering,  darkhng, 

Morning  wind  is  fanning 
Trees  by  the  bay  that  root. 

And  its  image  scanning 
Is  the  ripening  fruit. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  49 


FROM  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

[Written  just  after  the  preceding  one,  on  a  mountain  overlooking 

the  Lake  of  Zui'ich.] 

Dearest  Lili,  if  I  did  not  love  thee, 

How  tiauspoiting  were  a  scene  like  this ! 

Yet,  luy  Lili,  if  I  did  not  love  thee, 
What  were  any  bliss  ? 


MAY  SONG. 

Between  wheat-field  and  corn, 
Between  hedgerow  and  thorn, 
Between  pasture  and  tree, 
Where  is  my  sweetheart  ? 
Tell  it  me  ! 

Sweetheart  caught  I 

Not  at  home ; 
She's  then,  thought  I, 

Gone  to  roam. 
Fair  and  loving 

Blooms  sweet  May, 
Sweetheart's  roving, 

Free  and  gay. 

By  the  rock  near  the  wave. 
Where  her  first  kiss  she  gave. 
On  the  greensward,  to  me,  — 
Something  I  see ! 
Is  it  she  ? 


With  a  master  all  smoothly  goes 
Who  what  he  bids,  himself  well  knows. 


go  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


EARLY  SPEING. 

Come  ye  so  early, 

Days  of  delight  ? 
Making  the  hillside 

Bhthesome  and  bright  ? 

Merrily,  merrily, 

Little  brooks  rush, 
Down  by  the  meadow, 

Under  the  bush. 

Welkin  and  hilltop, 

Azure  and  cool ; 
Fishes  are  sporting 

In  streamlet  and  pool. 

Birds  of  gay  feather 
Flit  through  the  gxove, 

Singing  together 
Ditties  of  love. 

Busily  coming 

From  moss-covered  bowers, 
Brown  bees  are  humming, 

Questing  for  flowers. 

Lightsome  emotion. 

Life  everywhere ; 
Faint  wafts  of  fragrance 

Scenting  the  air. 

Now  comes  there  sounding 
A  sough  of  the  breeze, 

Shakes  through  the  thicket, 
Sinks  in  the  trees. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  5I 

Sinks,  but  returning, 

It  rullles  my  hair ; 
Aid  me  this  rapture, 

Muses,  to  bear  ! 

Know  ye  the  passion 

That  stirs  in  me  here  ? 
Yester  e'en  at  gloaming 

Was  I  with  my  dear ! 


IN    SUMMER 

How  plain  and  height 

With  dewdrops  are  bright ! 

How  pearls  have  crowned 

The  plants  all  around  ! 

How  sighs  the  breeze 

Through  thicket  and  trees ! 

How  loudly  in  the  sun's  clear  rays 

The  sweet  birds  carol  forth  their  lays ! 

But,  ah !  above. 

When  saw  I  my  love. 

Within  her  room, 

Small,  mantled  in  gloom, 

Enclosed  around, 

Where  sunlight  was  drowned, 

How  little  then  was  earth  to  me, 

With  aU  its  beauteous  majesty  ! 

AUTUMN   FEELINGS. 

Flourish  greener,  as  ye  clamber, 
O  ye  leaves,  to  seek  my  chamber. 
Up  the  trellised  vine  on  high  ! 
May  ye  swell,  twin-berries  tender. 


52 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Juicier  far,  —  and  with  more  splendour 

Ripen,  and  more  speedily  ! 
O'er  ye  broods  the  sun  at  even 
As  he  sinks  to  rest,  and  heaven 

Softly  breathes  into  your  ear 
All  its  fertilising  fulness, 
While  the  moon's  refreshing  coolness, 

Magic-laden,  hovers  near ; 
And,  alas !  ye're  watered  ever 

By  a  stream  of  tears  that  rill 
From  mine  eyes,  —  tears  ceasing  never, 

Tears  of  love  that  nought  can  still ! 


EESTLESS   LOVE. 

Through  rain,  through  snow, 
Through  tempest  go ! 
'Mongst  steaming  caves, 
O'er  misty  waves, 
On,  on  !  still  on ! 
Peace,  rest  have  flown ! 

Sooner  through  sadness 

I'd  wish  to  be  slain. 
Than  all  the  gladness 

Of  life  to  sustain ; 
All  the  fond  yearning 

That  heart  feels  for  heart, 
Only  seems  burning 

To  make  them  both  smart. 

How  shall  I  fly  ? 
Forestwards  hie  ? 
Vain  were  all  strife ! 
Bright  crown  of  life. 
Turbulent  bhss,  — 
Love,  thou  art  this ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  53 


THE   SHEPHERD'S   LAMENT. 

Up  yonder  ou  the  mountain, 
I  dwelt  for  days  together ; 

Looked  down  into  the  valley, 
This  pleasant  summer  weather. 

My  sheep  go  feeding  onward. 
My  dog  sits  watching  by ; 

I've  wandered  to  the  valley. 
And  yet  I  know  not  why. 

The  meadow,  it  is  pretty, 
With  flowers  so  fair  to  see ; 

I  gather  them,  but  no  one 

Will  take  the  flowers  from  me. 

The  good  tree  gives  me  shadow, 
And  shelter  from  the  rain  ; 

But  yonder  door  is  silent. 
It  will  not  ope  again  ! 

I  see  the  rainbow  bending, 

Above  her  old  abode. 
But  she  is  there  no  longer ; 

They've  taken  my  love  abroad. 

They  took  her  o'er  the  mountains. 
They  took  her  o'er  the  sea ; 

Move  on,  move  on,  my  bonny  sheep, 
There  is  no  rest  for  me ! 


54  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


NIGHT    SONG. 

When  on  thy  pillow  lying, 

Half  listen,  I  implore, 
And  at  my  lute's  soft  sighing. 

Sleep  on !  what  wouldst  thou  more  ? 

For  at  my  lute's  soft  sighing 
The  stars  their  blessings  pour 

On  feehngs  never-dying ; 

Sleep  on  !  what  wouldst  thou  more  ? 

Those  feehngs  never-dying 

My  spirit  aid  to  soar 
From  earthly  conflicts  trying ; 

Sleep  on  !  what  wouldst  thou  more  ? 

From  earthly  confhcts  trying 
Thou  driv'st  me  to  this  shore ; 

Through  thee  I'm  hither  flying,  — 
Sleep  on !  what  wouldst  thou  more  ? 

Through  thee  I'm  hither  flying. 

Thou  wilt  not  list  before 
In  slumbers  thou  art  lying  : 

Sleep  on  !  what  wouldst  thou  more  ? 


COMFORT   IN   TEARS. 

How  is  it  that  thou  art  so  sad 

When  others  are  so  gay  ? 
Thou  hast  been  weeping  —  nay,  thou  hast ! 

Thine  eyes  the  truth  betray. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  55 

"  And  if  I  may  not  choose  but  weep, 
Is  not  my  grief  mine  own  ? 
No  heart  was  heavier  yet  for  tears  — 
Oh,  leave  me,  friend,  alone  ! " 

Come  join  this  once  the  merry  band, 

They  call  aloud  for  thee, 
And  mourn  no  more  for  what  is  lost, 

But  let  the  past  go  free. 

"  Oh,  little  know  ye  in  your  mirth. 
What  wrings  my  heart  so  deep ! 
I  have  not  lost  the  idol  yet, 
For  which  I  sigh  and  weep." 

Then  rouse  thee  and  take  heart !  thy  blood 

Is  young  and  full  of  tire ; 
Youth  should  have  hope  and  might  to  win, 

And  wear  its  best  desire. 


"  Oh,  never  may  I  hope  to  gain 
What  dwells  from  me  so  far ; 
It  stands  as  high,  it  looks  as  bright, 
As  yonder  burning  star." 

Wliy,  who  would  seek  to  woo  the  stars 
Down  from  their  glorious  sphere  ? 

Enough  it  is  to  worship  them, 
When  nights  are  calm  and  clear. 

"  Oh,  I  look  up  and  worship  too  — 
My  star  it  shines  by  day  — 
Then  let  me  weep  the  livelong  night 
The  whilst  it  is  away." 


56  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


LONGING. 

What  stirs  in  my  heart  so  ? 

What  lures  me  from  home  ? 
What  forces  me  outwards, 

And  onwards  to  roam  ? 
Far  up  on  the  mountains 

Lie  cloudlets  hke  snow ; 
Oh,  were  I  but  yonder, 

'Tis  there  I  must  go ! 

Now  by  come  the  ravens 

So  solemn  and  black ; 
I  mingle  among  them, 

And  follow  their  track  : 
By  rock  and  by  turret 

We  silently  glide ; 
Ah,  there  is  the  bower,  where 

My  lady  doth  bide  ! 

She  walks  in  the  greenwood, 

That  beautiful  May ; 
Like  a  bird  singing  clearly, 

I  drop  on  the  spray. 
She  hsts,  and  she  lingers, 

And  softly  says  she  — 
How  sweetly  it  singeth, 

It  singeth  for  me ! " 

The  sunset  is  gilding 

The  peaks  of  the  hill. 
The  day  is  declining. 

Yet  tarries  she  still : 
She  follows  the  brooklet 

Through  meadow  and  glade, 
Till  dark  is  the  pathway, 

And  lost  in  the  shade. 


POEMS   OF  GOETHE  57 

Then,  tlieu  I  come  down,  as 

A  swift-shooting  star ; 
"  What  Hght  ghtters  yonder, 

So  near  yet  so  far  ? " 
Ere  yet  the  amazement 

Hath  passed  from  thee,  sweet, 
My  quest  it  is  ended, 

I  lie  at  thy  feet ! 


THE  CASTLE  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

There  stands  an  ancient  castle 

On  yonder  mountain  height, 
Where,  fenced  with  door  and  portal, 

Once  tarried  steed  and  knight. 

But  gone  are  door  and  portal, 

And  all  is  hushed  and  still ; 
O'er  ruined  wall  and  rafter 

I  clamber  as  I  will. 

A  cellar  with  many  a  vintage 

Once  lay  in  yonder  nook  ; 
Where  now  are  the  cellarer's  flagons 

And  w^here  is  his  jovial  look  ? 

No  more  he  sets  the  beakers 

For  the  guests  at  the  wassail  feast ; 

Nor  fills  a  flask  from  the  oldest  cask 
For  the  duties  of  the  priest. 

No  more  he  gives  on  the  staircase 
The  stoup  to  the  thirsty  squires, 

And  a  hurried  thanks  for  the  hurried  gift 
Keceives,  nor  more  requires. 


S8  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

For  burned  are  roof  and  rafter, 

And  they  hang  begrimed  and  black; 

And  stair,  and  hall,  and  chapel, 
Are  turned  to  dust  and  wrack. 

Yet,  as  with  song  and  cittern, 

One  day  when  the  sun  was  bright, 

I  saw  my  love  ascending 

The  slopes  of  yon  rocky  height ; 

From  the  hush  and  desolation 

Sweet  fancies  did  unfold, 
And  it  seemed  as  they  had  come  back  again, 

The  jovial  days  of  old. 

As  if  the  stateliest  chambers 
For  noble  guests  were  spread, 

And  out  from  the  prime  of  that  glorious  time 
A  youth  a  maiden  led. 

And,  standing  in  the  chapel, 
The  good  old  priest  did  say, 
"  Will  ye  wed  with  one  another  ?  " 

And  we  smiled  and  answered  "  Yea ! " 

We  sung,  and  our  hearts  they  bounded 

To  the  thrilling  lays  we  sung, 
And  every  note  was  doubled 

By  the  echo's  catching  tongue. 

And  when,  as  eve  descended. 

The  hush  grew  deep  and  still. 
And  the  setting  sun  looked  upward 

On  that  great  castled  hill ; 

Then  far  and  wide,  like  lord  and  bride, 
In  the  radiant  light  we  shone  — 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  59 

It  pauk  ;  and  again  the  ruins 
Stood  desolate  and  lone ! 


TO  MIGNON. 

Over  vale  and  torrent  far 
EoUs  along  the  sun's  bright  car. 
Ah  !  he  wakens  in  his  course 

Mine,  as  thy  deep-seated  smart 

In  the  heart, 
Ev'ry  morning  with  new  force. 

Scarce  avails  night  aught  to  me ; 
E'en  the  visions  that  I  see 
Come  but  in  a  mournful  guise  ; 

And  I  feel  tliis  silent  smart 

In  my  heart 
With  creative  power  arise. 

During  many  a  beauteous  year 
I  have  seen  ships  'neath  me  steer, 
As  they  seek  the  shelt'ring  bay ; 

But,  alas,  each  lasting  smart 

In  my  heart 
Floats  not  with  the  stream  away. 

I  must  wear  a  gala  dress. 

Long  stored  up  within  my  press, 

For  to-day  to  feasts  is  given  ; 

None  know  with  what  bitter  smart 

Is  my  heart 
Fearfully  and  madly  riven. 

Secretly  I  weep  each  tear. 
Yet  can  cheerful  e'en  appear, 


6o  POEMS   OF  GOETHE 

With  a  face  of  healthy  red  ; 

For  if  deadly  were  this  smart 

In  my  heart, 
Ah,  I  then  had  long  been  dead ! 


SPIRIT  GREETING. 

Upon  a  tower  antique  and  high 
Stood  ghost  of  hero  brave, 

Who,  as  the  ship  went  sailing  by. 
This  "  God-speed  "  to  her  gave. 

"  See  I  these  my  sinews  stark  were  once, 
This  heart  beat  fast  and  wild, 
Of  knightly  marrow  full  these  bones. 
Brimful  this  goblet  filled. 

"  Half  of  my  hfe  in  storm  was  passed, 
Half  wasted  was  in  ease. 
Speed,  human  cargo,  far  and  fast, 
On,  on,  before  the  breeze ! " 


TO    A    GOLDEN    HEART    HE   WAS   WEARING 
ON   HIS   NECK. 

[Addressed,  durin";  the  Swiss  tour  already  mentioned,  to  a  pres- 
ent Lili  had  given  him  during  the  time  of  their  happy  connection, 
which  was  then  about  to  be  terminated  for  ever.] 

Tiiou,  of  joy  that  died  away,  the  token 
Which  as  yet  I  on  my  neck  am  wearing. 

Longer  hold'st  us  twain,  thou  mental  tie  that's  broken  ? 
Art  thou  the  length  of  love's  short  days  repairing  ? 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  6i 

Flee  I,  Lili,  from  thee  !     Must  still,  tied  to  thy  fetter, 
Like  unto  a  debtor. 

Roam   iu   strange   lands,  through  vales  and  forests 
darting ! 
Ah !  not  so  soon  could  this  my  heart  from 

My  Lih's  heart  be  parting. 

Like  a  bird  that  erst  did  break  his  string, 

And  to  the  wood  returns. 

He  drags  of  his  prison  the  disgrace. 

Still  some  bit  of  the  string  on  his  trace ; 
No  longer  the  old  bird,  once  born  with  freedom's  wing ; 

Has  been  a  slave  where'er  he  turns. 


WANDERER'S  NIGHT -SONG. 

Thou  that  from  the  heavens  art. 

Every  pain  and  sorrow  stillest, 
And  the  doubly  wretched  heart 

Doubly  with  refreshment  fillest, 
I  am  weary  with  contending  ! 

Why  this  rapture  and  unrest  ? 
Peace  descending, 

Come,  ah,  come  into  my  breast ! 

O'er  all  the  hilltops 

Is  quiet  now, 
In  all  the  tree-tops 

Hearest  thou 
Hardly  a  breath  ; 

The  birds  are  asleep  in  the  trees 
Wait ;  soon  like  these 

Thou,  too,  shalt  rest. 


62  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


ILM,  THE   RIVER,   TO    THE   MOON. 

FiLLEST  hill  and  vale  again, 
Still  with  softening  light ! 

Loosest  from  the  world's  cold  chain 
All  my  soul  to-night ! 

Spreadest  round  me  far  and  nigh. 

Soothingly,  thy  smile ; 
From  thee,  as  from  friendship's  eye, 

Sorrow  shrinks  the  while. 

Every  echo  thrills  my  heart,  — 

Glad  and  gloomy  mood, 
Joy  and  sorrow  hoth  have  part 

In  my  solitude. 

River,  river,  glide  along ! 

I  am  sad,  alas  ! 
Fleeting  tilings  are  love  and  song, — 

Even  so  they  pass. 

I  have  had  and  T  have  lost 

What  I  long  for  yet ; 
Ah  !  why  will  we,  to  our  cost, 

Simple  joys  forget  ? 

River,  river,  glide  along. 

Without  stop  or  stay  ! 
Murnuir,  whisper  to  my  song 
In  melodious  play. 

Wliether  on  a  winter's  niglit 

Rise  thy  swelling  floods, 
Or  in  spring  thou  hast  delight 

Watering  the  young  buds. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  63 

Happy  he  who,  hating  none, 

Leaves  the  world's  dull  noise, 
And,  with  trusty  friends  alone, 

Quietly  enjoys 

Wliat,  for  ever  unexpressed, 

Hid  from  common  sight, 
Through  the  mazes  of  the  breast 

Softly  steals  by  night ! 


HUNTSMAN'S   EVENING   SONG. 

In  silence  sad,  from  heath  to  hill 

With  rifle  slung  I  glide. 
But  thy  dear  shape,  it  haunts  me  still. 

It  hovers  by  my  side. 

Across  the  brook,  and  past  the  mill, 

I  watch  thee  gaily  fleet ; 
Ah,  does  one  shape,  that  ne'er  is  still, 

E'er  cross  thy  fancy,  sweet  ? 

'Tis  his,  who,  tortured  by  unrest, 

Eoams  ever  to  and  fro, 
Now  ranging  east,  now  ranging  west, 

Since  forced  from  thee  to  go. 

And  yet  at  times  the  thought  of  thee. 
Like  moonlight  in  a  dream, 

Doth  bring,  I  know  not  how,  to  me 
Content  and  peace  supreme. 


64  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


EVENING. 

[Written  at  night  on  the  Kickelhahn,  a  hill  in  the  forest  of 
Ilmenau,  on  the  walls  of  a  little  hermitage  where  Goethe  com- 
posed the  last  act  of  his  "  Iphigenia."] 

Peace  breathes  along  the  shade 

Of  every  hill, 

The  tree-tops  of  the  glade 

Are  hushed  and  still ; 

All  woodland  murmurs  cease, 

The  birds  to  rest  within  the  brake  are  gone. 

Be  patient,  weary  heart  —  anon, 

Thou,  too,  shalt  be  at  peace  ! 


TO    LINA. 

LiNA,  rival  of  the  linnet. 

When  these  lays  shall  reach  thy  hand, 
Please  transfer  them  to  the  spinnet, 

Where  thy  friend  was  wont  to  stand. 

Set  the  diapason  ringing, 

Ponder  not  the  words  you  see. 

Give  them  utterance  by  thy  singing. 
Then  each  leaf  belongs  to  thee. 

With  the  life  of  music  fill  them  ; 

Cold  the  written  verses  seem. 
That,  would  Lina  deign  to  trill  them, 

Might  be  trancing  as  a  dream. 


POEiWS  OF  GOETHE  65 


EVER   AND   EVERYWHERE. 

Far  explore  the  mountain  hollow, 
High  iu  air  the  clouds  then  follow ! 
To  each  brook  and  vale  the  Muse 
Thousand  times  her  call  renews. 

Soon  as  flow'ret  blooms  in  spring, 

It  wakens  many  a  .strain  ; 
And  when  Time  spreads  his  fleeting  wing 

The  seasons  come  again. 


DELIGHT    OF    SORROW. 

Dry  not  up,  dry  not  up. 

Tears  shed  by  love  everlasting ! 
Ah !  to  the  eye  that  half  only  dried  is, 
How  dreary,  how  dead  the  world  does  appear ! 
Dry  not  up,  dry  not  up. 

Tears  my  love  unhappy  is  shedding ! 


PROXIMITY. 

I  KNOW  not  wherefore,  dearest  love. 
Thou  often  art  so  strange  and  coy ! 

Wlien  'mougst  man's  busy  haunts  we  move, 
Thy  coldness  puts  to  flight  my  joy. 

But  soon  as  night  and  silence  round  us  reign, 

I  know  thee  by  thy  kisses  sweet  again ! 


66  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


A   NIGHT   THOUGHT. 


I  DO  not  envy  you,  ye  joyless  stars, 

Though  fair  ye  be,  and  glorious  to  the  sight  — 

The  seaman's  hope  amidst  the  'whelming  storm, 

When  help  from  God  or  man  there  cometh  none. 

No !  for  ye  love  not,  nor  have  ever  loved  ! 

Through  the  broad  fields  of  heaven,  the  eternal  hours 

Lead  on  your  circling  spheres  unceasingly. 

How  vast  a  journey  have  ye  travelled  o'er, 

Since  I,  upon  the  bosom  of  my  love, 

Forgot  all  memory  of  night  or  you ! 


PETITION. 

Oh,  thou  sweet  maiden  fair, 
Thou  with  the  raven  hair, 

Why  to  the  window  go  ? 

While  gazing  down  below, 
Art  standing  vainly  there  ? 
Oh,  if  thou  stood'st  for  me, 

And  lett'st  the  latch  but  fly, 
How  happy  should  I  be ! 

How  soon  would  I  leap  high  \ 


TO   HIS   COY    ONE. 

Seest  thou  yon  smiling  orange  ? 
Upon  the  tree  still  hangs  it ; 
Already  March  hath  vanished, 
And  new-born  flowers  are  shooting. 
I  draw  nigli  to  the  tree  then, 
And  there  I  say :  O  orange, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  67 

Thou  ripe  and  juicy  orange, 
Thou  sweet  aud  luscious  orange, 
I  shake  the  tree,  I  shake  it. 
Oh,  fall  into  my  lap. 


ROLLICKING   HANS. 

Hallo  there  !     A  glass  ! 

Ha  !  the  draught's  truly  sweet! 
If  for  drink  go  on  my  shoes, 

I  shall  still  have  my  feet. 

A  maiden  and  wine. 

With  sweet  music  and  song,  — 
I  would  they  w^ere  mine, 

All  life's  journey  along ! 

If  I  depart  from  this  sad  sphere, 

And  leave  a  will  behind  me  here, 

A  suit  at  law  will  be  preferred, 

But  as  for  thanks,  —  the  deuce  a  word  I 

So  ere  I  die,  I  squander  all. 

And  that's  a  proper  will  I  call. 

HIS    COMRADE. 

Hallo  there  !     A  glass  ! 

Ha  !  the  draught's  truly  sweet ! 
If  thou  keepest  thy  shoes. 

Thou  wilt  then  spare  thy  feet. 

A  maiden  and  wine, 

With  sweet  nmsic  and  song, 
On  payment,  are  thine, 

All  hfe's  journey  along ! 


68  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


TO    LIDA. 


The  only  one  whom,  Lida,  thou  canst  love, 

Thou  claim'st,  and  rightly  claim'st,  for  only  thee ; 

He,  too,  is  wholly  thine ;  since  doomed  to  rove 
Far  from  thee,  in  life's  turmoils  nought  I  see 

Save  a  thin  veil,  through  which  thy  form  I  view. 

As  though  in  clouds ;  with  kindly  smile  and  true, 
It  cheers  me,  like  the  stars  eterne  that  gleam 
Across  the  northern  hghts'  far-fiick'ring  beam. 


RECIPEOCAL. 

My  mistress,  where  sits  she  ? 

What  is  it  that  charms  ? 
The  absent  she's  rocking. 

Held  fast  in  her  arms. 


In  pretty  cage  prisoned 
She  holds  a  bird  still ; 

Yet  lets  him  fly  from  her, 
Whenever  he  will. 


He  pecks  at  her  finger. 
And  pecks  at  her  lips, 

And  hovers  and  flutters. 
And  round  her  he  skips. 

Then  hasten  thou  homeward, 

In  fashion  to  be ; 
If  thou  hast  the  maiden, 

She  also  hath  thee. 


POEA\S  OF  GOETHE  69 


THE   FREEBOOTER 

No  door  has  my  house, 
No  house  has  my  door ; 

And  in  and  out  ever 
I  carry  my  store. 

No  grate  has  my  kitchen, 
No  kitchen  my  grate  ; 

Yet  roasts  it  and  boils  it 
Both  early  and  late. 

My  bed  has  no  trestles. 
My  trestles  no  bed ; 

Yet  merrier  moments 
No  mortal  e'er  led. 

My  cellar  is  lofty, 
My  barn  is  full  deep, 

From  top  to  the  bottom, — 
There  lie  I  and  sleep. 

And  soon  as  I  waken. 
All  moves  on  its  race ; 

My  place  has  no  fixture, 
My  fixture  no  place. 


JOY   AND    SORROW. 

As  fisher-boy  I  fared 

To  the  black  rock  in  the  sea, 
And,  while  false  gifts  I  prepared, 

Listened  aud  sang  merrily. 


70  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Down  descended  the  decoy, 
Soon  a  fish  attacked  the  bait ; 

One  exulting  shout  of  joy,  — 

And  the  fish  was  captured  straight. 

Ah !  on  shore,  and  to  the  wood. 

Past  the  cliffs,  o'er  stock  and  stone, 
One  foot's  traces  I  pursued, 

And  the  maiden  was  alone. 
Lips  were  silent,  eyes  downcast 

As  a  clasp-knife  snaps  the  bait. 
With  her  snare  she  seized  me  fast. 

And  the  boy  was  captured  straight. 

Heaven  knows  who's  the  happy  swain 

That  she  rambles  with  anew  ! 
I  must  dare  the  sea  again, 

Spite  of  wind  and  weather,  too. 
When  the  great  and  little  fish 

Wail  and  flounder  in  my  net, 
Straight  returns  my  eager  wish 

In  her  arms  to  revel  yet ! 


MARCH. 

The  snowflakes  fall  in  showers, 

The  time  is  absent  still, 
When  all  Spring's  beauteous  flowers. 
When  all  Spring's  beauteous  flowers 

Our  hearts  with  joy  shall  fill. 

With  lustre  false  and  fleeting 

The  sun's  bright  rays  are  thrown ; 
The  swallow's  self  is  cheating, 
The  swallow's  self  is  cheating  ; 
And  why  ?     He  comes  alone ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  71 

Can  I  e'er  feel  delighted 

Alone,  though  Spring  is  near  ? 
Yet  when  we  are  united, 
Yet  when  we  are  united, 

The  summer  will  be  here. 


APRIL. 

Tell  me,  eyes,  what  'tis  ye're  seeking ; 
For  ye're  saying  something  sweet, 
Fit  the  ravished  ear  to  greet. 

Eloquently,  softly  speaking. 

Yet  I  see  now  why  ye're  ro%dng  ; 

For  behind  those  eyes  so  bright, 

To  itself  abandoned  quite, 
Lies  a  bosom,  truthful,  loviug,  — 

One  that  it  must  fill  with  pleasure 
'Mongst  so  many,  dull  and  blind, 
One  true  look  at  length  to  find, 

That  its  worth  can  rightly  treasure. 

Whilst  I'm  lost  in  studying  ever 
To  explain  these  ciphers  duly,  — 
To  unravel  my  books  truly 

In  return  be  your  endeavour  ! 


MAY. 

Light  and  sUVry  cloudlets  hover 
In  the  air,  as  yet  scarce  warm ; 

]\Iild,  with  glimmer  soft  tinged  over, 
Peeps  the  sun  through  fragrant  balm. 


72  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Gently  rolls  and  heaves  the  ocean 
As  its  waves  the  bank  o'erflow, 

And  with  ever  restless  motion 
Moves  the  verdure  to  and  fro, 
Mirrored  brightly  far  below. 

What  is  now  the  fohage  moving  ? 

Air  is  stni,  and  hush'd  the  breeze, 
Sultriness,  this  fulness  loviug, 

Through  the  thicket,  from  the  trees. 
Now  the  eye  at  once  gleams  brightly, 

See  !  the  infaut  band  with  mirth 
Moves  and  dances  nimbly,  lightly. 

As  the  morning  gave  it  birth, 

riutt'ring  two  and  two  o'er  earth. 


JUNE. 

She  behind  yon  mountain  lives, 
Who  my  love's  sweet  guerdon  gives. 
Tell  me,  mount,  how  this  can  be. 
Very  glass  thou  seem'st  to  me  ! 
And  I  seem  to  be  close  by, 
For  I  see  her  drawing  nigh ; 
Now,  because  I'm  absent,  sad. 
Now,  because  she  sees  me,  glad. 

Soon  between  us  rise  to  sight 
Valleys  cool,  with  bushes  light, 
Streams  and  meadows ;  next  appear 

Mills  and  wheels,  the  surest  token 
That  a  level  spot  is  near. 

Plains  far-stretching  and  unbroken. 
And  so  onwards,  onwards  roam, 
To  my  garden  and  my  home  ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  73 

But  how  comes  it  then  to  pass  ? 
All  tlds  gives  no  joy,  alas !  — 
I  was  ravished  by  her  sight, 
By  her  eyes  so  fair  and  bright, 
By  her  footstep  soft  and  light. 
How  her  peerless  charms  I  praised, 
When  from  head  to  foot  I  gazed ! 
I  am  here,  she's  far  away,  — 
I  am  gone,  with  her  to  stay. 

If  on  rugged  hills  she  wander, 

If  she  haste  the  vale  along. 
Pinions  seem  to  flutter  yonder, 

And  the  air  is  filled  with  song  ; 
With  the  glow  of  youth  still  playing 

Joyous  vigour  in  each  limb. 
One  in  silence  is  delaying. 

She  alone  'tis  blesses  him. 

Love,  thou  art  too  fair,  I  ween ! 
Fairer  I  have  never  seen ! 
From  the  heart  full  easily 
Blooming  flowers  are  culled  by  thee. 
If  I  think  :  "  Oh,  were  it  so," 
Bone  and  marrow  seem  to  glow ! 
If  rewarded  by  her  love. 
Can  I  greater  rapture  prove  ? 

And  still  fairer  is  the  bride. 
When  in  me  she  will  confide, 
When  she  speaks  and  lets  me  know 
AU  her  tale  of  joy  and  woe. 
All  her  lifetime's  history 
Now  is  fully  known  to  me. 
Who  in  child  or  woman  e'er 
Soul  and  body  found  so  fair? 


74 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


NEXT   YEAR'S   SPEING. 


The  bed  of  flowers 

Loosens  amain, 
The  beauteous  snowdrops 

Drop  o'er  the  plain. 
The  crocus  opens 

Its  glowing  bud, 
Like  emeralds  others, 

Others,  like  blood. 
With  saucy  gesture 

Primroses  flare. 
And  roguish  violets 

Hidden  with  care ; 
And  whatsoever 

There  stirs  and  strives. 
The  Spring's  contented, 

It  works  and  thrives. 


'Mongst  all  the  blossoms 

That  fairest  are. 
My  sweetheart's  sweetness 

Is  sweetest  far ; 
Upon  me  ever 

Her  glances  light, 
My  song  they  waken 

My  words  make  bright. 
An  ever  open 

And  blooming  mind. 
In  sport,  unsullied, 

In  earnest,  kind. 
Though  roses  and  lilies 

By  summer  are  brought, 
Against  my  sweetheart 

Prevails  he  nought. 


SWISS    SONG. 


Up  in  the  mountain 
I  was  a-sitting. 
With  the  bird  there 
As  my  guest. 
Blithely  singing. 
Blithely  springing. 
And  building 
His  nest. 


In  the  garden 
I  was  a-standing. 
And  the  bee  there 
Saw  as  well. 
Buzzing,  humming. 
Going,  coming. 
And  building 
His  cell. 


O'er  the  meadow 
I  was  a-going. 
And  there  saw  the 
Butterflies, 
Sipping,  dancing, 
riymg,  glancing, 
And  charming 
The  eyes. 

And  then  came  my 
Dear  Hansel, 
And  I  showed  them 
With  glee, 
Sipping,  quaffing. 
And  he,  laughing. 
Sweet  kisses 
Gave  me. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  7$ 


SICILIAN  SONG. 


Ye  black  and  roguish  eyes, 

If  ye  coiuuiaud, 
Each  house  in  ruiu  lies, 

No  town  can  stand. 
Aud  shall  my  bosom's  chain,- 

This  plaster  wall,  — 
To  think  one  moment,  deign,- 

Shall  it  not  fall  ? 


AT    MIDNIGHT   HOUR 

[Goethe  relates  that  a  remarkable  situation  he  was  in  one  bright 
moonlight  night  led  to  the  composition  of  this  sweet  song,  which 
was  "  the  dearer  to  him  because  he  could  not  say  whence  it  came 
and  whither  it  would."] 

At  midnight  hour  I  went,  not  willingly, 
A  little,  little  boy,  yon  churchyard  past. 

To  Father  Vicar's  house ;  the  stars  on  high 
On  all  around  their  beauteous  radiance  cast. 
At  midnight  hour. 

And  when,  in  journeying  o'er  the  path  of  life. 
My  love  I  followed,  as  she  onwaid  moved, 

"With  stars  and  northern  lights  o'erhead  in  strife. 
Going  and  coming,  perfect  bliss  I  proved 
At  midnight  hour. 

Until  at  length  the  full  moon,  lustre-fraught. 

Burst  thro'  the  gloom  wherein  she  was  enshrined ; 

And  then  the  willing,  active,  rapid  thought 
Around  the  past,  as  round  the  future  twinied. 
At  midnight  hour. 


76  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

TO    THE   EISING   FULL   MOON. 

Dornburg,  25th  August,  1828. 

Wilt  thou  suddenly  enshroud  thee, 
Who  this  moment  wert  so  nigh  ? 

Heavy  rising  masses  cloud  thee, 
Thou  art  hidden  from  mine  eye. 

Yet  my  sadness  thou  well  knowest, 
Gleaming  sweetly  as  a  star  ! 

That  I'm  loved,  'tis  thou  that  showest, 
Though  my  loved  one  may  be  far. 

Upward  mount  then  !  clearer,  milder, 
Eobed  in  splendour  far  more  bright ! 

Though  my  heart  with  grief  throbs  wilder, 
Fraught  with  rapture  is  the  night ! 


THE   BRIDEGROOM.i 

I  SLEPT,  —  'twas  midnight,  —  in  my  bosom  woke. 
As  though  'twere  day,  my  love-o'erflowing  heart ; 

To  me  it  seemed  like  night,  when  day  first  broke ; 
What  is't  to  me,  whate'er  it  may  impart  ? 

She  was  away ;  the  world's  unceasing  strife 
For  her  alone  I  suffered  through  the  heat 

Of  sultry  day ;  oh,  what  refreshing  life 

At  cooling  eve  !  —  my  guerdon  was  complete. 

The  sun  now  set,  and  wand'ring  hand  in  hand, 
His  last  and  blissful  look  we  greeted  then  ; 
While  spake  our  eyes,  as  they  each  other  scanned : 
"  From  the  far  east,  let's  trust,  he'll  come  again  ! " 

1  Not  in  the  English  sense  of  the  word,  but  the  German,  where 
it  has  the  meaning  of  betrothed. 


POEMS   OF   GOETHE  .  77 

At  miduight !  —  the  bright  stars,  iu  vision  blest, 
Guide  to  the  threshold  where  she  slumbers  calm ; 

Oh,  be  it  miue,  there  too  at  length  to  rest,  — 
Yet  howsoe'er  this  prove,  life's  full  of  charm ! 


SUCH,   SUCH    IS   HE   WHO   PLEASETH   ME. 

Fly,  dearest,  fly  !     He  is  not  nigh  ! 

He  who  found  thee  one  fair  morn  in  Spring 
In  the  wood  where  thou  thy  flight  didst  wing. 

Fly,  dearest,  fly  !     He  is  not  nigh  ! 

Never  rests  the  foot  of  evil  spy. 

Hark  !  flutes'  sweet  strains  and  love's  refrains 
Eeach  the  loved  one,  borne  there  by  the  wind. 
In  the  soft  heart  open  doors  they  find. 
Hark  !  flutes'  sweet  strains  and  love's  refrains, 
Hark  !  —  yet  bhssful  love  their  echo  pains. 

Erect  his  head,  and  firm  his  tread, 

Raven  hair  around  his  smootli  brow  strays, 
On  his  cheeks  a  spring  eternal  plays. 

Erect  his  head,  and  firm  his  tread, 

And  by  grace  his  ev'ry  step  is  led. 

Happy  his  breast,  with  pureness  blessed. 

And  the  dark  eyes  'neath  his  eyebrows  placed, 
With  full  many  a  beauteous  line  are  graced. 
Happy  his  breast,  with  pureness  blessed. 
Soon  as  seen,  thy  love  must  be  confessed. 

His  mouth  is  red  —  its  power  I  dread. 
On  his  lips  morn's  fragrant  incense  lies, 
Round  his  lips  the  cooHng  zephyr  sighs. 
His  mouth  is  red  —  its  power  I  dread. 
With  one  glance  from  him,  all  sorrow's  fled. 


78  .  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

His  blood  is  true,  his  heart  bold  too, 

In  his  soft  arms,  strength,  protection,  dwells, 
And  his  face  with  noble  pity  swells. 
His  blood  is  true,  his  heart  bold  too. 
Blest  the  one  whom  those  dear  arms  may  woo ! 


GIPSY    SONG. 

In  the  drizzling  mist,  with  the  snow  high-piled. 
In  the  winter  night,  in  the  forest  wild, 
I  heard  the  wolves  with  their  ravenous  howl, 
I  heard  the  screaming  note  of  the  owl  r 
Wille  wau  wau  wau  ! 
Wille  wo  wo  wo ! 
Wito  hu  ! 

I  shot,  one  day,  a  cat  in  the  ditch  — 
The  dear  black  cat  of  Anna  the  witch ; 
Upon  me,  at  night,  seven  were-wolves  came  down, 
Seven  women  they  were,  from  out  of  the  town. 
Wille  wau  wau  wau  ! 
Wille  wo  wo  wo  ! 
Wito  hu ! 

I  knew  them  all ;  ay,  I  knew  them  straight ; 
First,  Anna,  then  Ursula,  Eve,  and  Kate, 
And  Barbara,  Lizzy,  and  Bet  as  well : 
And  forming  a  ring,  they  began  to  yell : 
Wille  wau  wau  wau  ! 
Wille  wo  wo  wo ! 
Wito  hu  ! 

Then  called  I  their  names  with  angry  threat : 
"What   wouldst   thou,  Anna?     What   wouldst  thou. 
Bet  ? " 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  79 

At  hearing  my  voice,  themselves  they  shook, 
And  howling  and  yelling,  to  flight  they  took. 
Wille  wau  wau  wau  ! 
Wille  wo  wo  wo ! 
Wito  hu ! 


THE    DESTRUCTION    OF    MAGDEBURG. 

[For  a  fine  account  of  the  fearful  sack  of  Magdeburg,  by  Tilly, 
in  the  year  1631,  see  Schiller's  "History  of  the  Thirty  Years' 
War."] 

Oh,  Magdeburg,  the  town  ! 

Fair  maids  thy  beauty  c^o^vn, 

Thy  charms  fair  maids  and  matrons  crown  ; 

Oh,  Magdeburg,  the  town  ! 

Where  all  so  blooming  stands. 
Advance  fierce  Tilly's  bands  ; 
O'er  gardens  and  o'er  w'ell-tilled  lands 
Advance  fierce  Tilly's  bands. 

Now  Tilly's  at  the  gate. 
Our  homes  who'll  hberate  ? 
Go,  loved  one,  hasten  to  the  gate. 
And  dare  the  combat  straight ! 

There  is  no  need  as  yet, 
However  fierce  his  threat ; 
Thy  rosy  cheeks  I'll  kiss,  sweet  pet ! 
There  is  no  need  as  yet. 

My  longing  makes  me  pale. 
Oh,  what  can  wealth  avail  ? 
E'en  now  thy  father  may  be  pale. 
Thou  makest  my  courage  fail. 


8o  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Oh,  mother,  give  me  bread  ! 

Is  then  my  father  dead  ? 

Oh,  mother,  one  small  crust  of  bread ! 

Oh !  what  misfortune  dread  ! 

Thy  father,  dead  lies  he, 
The  trembling  townsmen  flee, 
Adown  the  street  the  blood  runs  free ; 
Oh,  whither  shall  we  flee  ? 

The  churches  ruined  lie, 

The  houses  burn  on  high, 

The  roofs  they  smoke,  the  flames  out  fly, 

Into  the  street  then  hie ! 

No  safety  there  they  meet ! 

The  soldiers  fill  the  street. 

With  fire  and  sword  the  wreck  complete : 

No  safety  there  they  meet ! 

Down  falls  the  houses'  line, 
Wliere  now  is  thine  or  mine  ? 
That  bundle  yonder  is  not  thine, 
Thou  flying  maiden  mine ! 

The  women  sorrow  sore, 
The  maidens  far,  far  more. 
The  living  are  no  virgins  more. 
Thus  Tilly's  troops  make  war  ! 


FINNISH    SONG. 

If  the  loved  one,  the  well-known  one. 

Should  return  as  he  departed. 

On  his  lips  would  ring  my  kisses. 

Though  the  wolf's  blood  might  have  dyed  them ; 

And  a  hearty  grasp  I'd  give  him, 

Though  his  finger-ends  were  serpents. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  8i 

Wind  !  Oh,  if  thou  hadst  but  reason, 
Word  for  word  in  turns  thou'dst  carry, 
E'en  though  some  perchance  might  perish 
Tweeu  two  lovers  so  far  distant. 


All  chuice  morsels  I'd  dispense  %vith, 
Table-flesh  of  priests  neglect,  too, 
Sooner  tlian  renounce  my  lover. 
Whom,  in  summer  having  vanquished, 
I  in  winter  tamed  still  longer. 


DEPEESSION. 

EosES,  ah,  how  fair  ye  be ! 

Ye  are  fading,  dying  ! 
Ye  should  with  my  lady  be. 

On  her  bosom  lying ; 
All  your  bloom  is  lost  on  me. 

Here  despairing,  sighing. 

Oh,  the  golden  dreams  I  nursed. 
Ere  I  knew  thy  scorning, 

When  I  poured  my  passion  first. 
And  at  break  of  morning, 

Plucked  the  rosebuds  ere  they  burst 
For  thy  breast's  adorning  ! 

Every  fruit  and  floweret  rare. 

To  thy  feet  I  bore  it, 
Fondly  knelt,  to  see  thee  there 

Bending  fondly  o'er  it. 
Gazing  on  thy  face  so  fair. 

To  revere,  adore  it. 


82  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Koses,  ah  !  how  fair  ye  be  ! 

Ye  are  fading,  dyiug ! 
Ye  should  with  my  lady  be. 

On  her  bosom  lying ; 
All  your  bloom  is  lost  on  me. 

Here  despairing,  sighing. 


SORROW   WITHOUT    CONSOLATION. 

Oh,  wherefore  shouldst  thou  try 

The  tears  of  love  to  dry  ? 
Nay,  let  them  flow ! 

For  didst  thou  only  know, 
How  barren  and  how  dead 
Seems  everything  below, 
To  those  who  have  not  tears  enough  to  shed, 
Thou'dst  rather  bid  them  weep,  and  seek  their  com- 
fort so. 

THE   PARTING. 

Let  mine  eyes  the  farewell  make  thee 
Which  my  lips  refuse  to  speak ; 

Scorn  me  not,  if  to  forsake  thee 
Makes  my  very  manhood  weak. 

Joyless  in  our  joy's  eclipse,  love. 

Are  love's  tokens,  else  divine, 
Cold  the  kisses  of  thy  lips,  love. 

Damp  the  hand  that's  locked  in  mine. 

Once  thy  lip,  to  touch  it  only. 

To  my  soul  has  sent  a  thrill, 
Sweeter  than  the  violet  lonely, 

Plucked  in  March-time  by  the  rill. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  83 

Garlands  never  more  I'll  fashion, 

Koses  twine  no  mure  fur  thee ; 
Spring  is  here,  but,  ah,  my  passion, 

Autumn  dark  has  come  for  me ! 


ON   THE   NEW   YEAR 

[Composed   for  a  merry  party  that  used  to  meet,  in    1802,  at 
Goethe's  house.] 

Fate  now  allows  us, 

'Twixt  the  departing 

And  the  upstarting, 
Happy  to  be ; 
And  at  the  call  of 

Memory  cherished. 

Future  and  perished 
Moments  we  see. 

Seasons  of  anguish, — 

Ah,  they  must  ever 

Truth  from  woe  sever. 
Love  and  joy  part ; 
Days  still  more  worthy 

Soon  will  unite  us, 

Fairer  songs  light  us, 
Strength'ning  the  heart. 

We,  thus  united. 

Think  of,  with  gladness, 

Rapture  and  sadness. 
Sorrow  now  flies. 
Oh,  how  mysterious 

Fortune's  direction ! 

Old  the  connection. 
New-born  the  prize ! 


84  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Thank,  for  this,  Fortune, 
Wavering  blindly ! 
Thank  all  that  kindly 

Fate  may  bestow ! 

Eevel  in  change's 
Impulses  clearer, 
Love  far  sincerer, 

More  heartfelt  glow. 

Over  the  old  one, 
Wrinkles  collected, 
Sad  and  dejected, 

Others  may  view ; 

But,  on  us  gently 
Shineth  a  true  one. 
And  to  the  new  one 

We,  too,  are  new. 

As  a  fond  couple 

'Midst  the  dance  veering, 
First  disappearing, 

Then  reappear. 

So  let  affliction 

Guide  thro'  life's  mazy 
Pathways  so  hazy 

Into  the  year. 


ANNIVERSARY   SONG. 

[This  little  song  describes  tlie  different  members  of  the  party 
just  spoken  of.] 

Why  pacest  thou,  my  neighbour  fair, 

The  garden  all  alone  ? 
If  house  and  land  thou  seek'st  to  guard, 

I'd  thee  as  mistress  own. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  85 

My  brother  sought  the  cellar-maid, 

And  suflered  her  no  rest ; 
She  gave  him  a  refreshing  draught, 

A  kiss,  too,  she  impressed. 


My  cousin  is  a  prudent  wight, 
The  cook's  by  him  adored  ; 

He  turns  the  spit  round  ceaselessly, 
To  gain  love's  sweet  reward. 


We  six  together  then  began 

A  banquet  to  consume, 
When  lo !  a  fourth  pair  singing  came, 

And  danced  into  the  room. 


Welcome  were  they,  —  and  welcome,  too, 

Was  a  fifth  jovial  pair, 
Brimful  of  news,  and  stored  with  tales 

And  jests  both  new  and  rare. 

For  riddles,  spirit,  raillery. 

And  wit,  a  place  remained ; 
A  sixth  pair  then  our  circle  joined. 

And  so  that  prize  was  gained. 

And  yet,  to  make  us  truly  blest, 
One  missed  we,  and  full  sore ; 

A  true  and  tender  couple  came,  — 
We  needed  then  no  more. 


The  social  banquet  now  goes  on, 
Unchequered  by  alloy  ; 

The  sacred  double-numbers  then 
Let  all  at  once  enjoy  ! 


86  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE    SPRING    ORACLE. 

Oh,  prophetic  bird  so  bright, 
Blossom-songster,  cuckoo  hight ! 
In  the  fairest  time  of  year, 
Dearest  bird,  oh  !  deign  to  hear 
What  a  youthful  pair  would  pray  ; 
Do  thou  call,  if  hope  they  may ; 
Thy  cuck-oo,  thy  cuck-oo. 
Ever  more  cuck-oo,  cuck-oo  ! 

Hearest  thou  ?     A  loving  pair 
Fain  would  to  the  altar  fare ; 
Yes !  a  pair  in  happy  youth, 
Full  of  virtue,  full  of  truth. 
Is  the  hour  not  fixed  by  fate  ? 
Say,  how  long  must  they  still  wait  ? 
Hark  !  cuck-oo  !  hark  !  cuck-oo  ! 
Silent  yet !  for  shame,  cuck-oo  ! 

'Tis  not  our  fault,  certainly  ! 

Only  two  years  patient  be  ! 

But  if  we  ourselves  please  here, 

Will  pa-pa-papas  appear  ? 

Know  that  thou'lt  more  kmdness  do  us, 

More  thou'lt  prophesy  unto  us. 

One  !  cuck-oo  !     Two  !  cuck-oo  ! 

Ever,  ever,  cuck-oo,  cuck-oo,  coo  ! 

If  we've  calculated  clearly, 
We  have  half  a  dozen  nearly. 
If  good  promises  we'll  give. 
Wilt  thou  say  how  long  we'll  live  ? 
Truly,  we'll  confess  to  thee, 
We'd  prolong  it  willingly. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  87 

Coo,  cuck-00,  coo,  cuck-00  ! 

Coo,  coo,  coo,  coo,  coo,  coo,  coo,  coo,  coo ! 

Life  is  one  continued  feast  — 

(If  we  keep  uo  score,  at  least). 

If  now  we  together  dwell, 

Will  true  love  remain  as  well  ? 

For  if  that  should  e'er  decay, 

Happiness  would  pass  away. 

Coo,  cuck-00,  coo,  cuck-00. 

Coo,  coo,  coo,  coo,  coo,  coo,  coo,  coo,  coo ! 

(Gracefully  in  imfinitum.) 


THE    HAPPY   COUPLE. 

After  these  vernal  rains 

That  we  so  warmly  sought, 
Dear  wife,  see  how  our  plains 

With  blessings  sweet  are  fraught ! 
We  cast  our  distant  gaze 

Far  in  the  misty  blue  ; 
Here  gentle  love  still  strays, 

Here  dwells  still  rapture  true. 

Thou  see'st  whither  go 

Yon  pair  of  pigeons  white. 
Where  swelling  violets  blow 

Round  sunny  foliage  l)right. 
'Twas  there  we  gathered  first 

A  nosegay  as  we  roved ; 
There  into  flame  first  burst 

The  passion  that  we  proved. 

Yet  when,  with  pliglited  troth. 
The  priest  beheld  us  fare. 


88  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Home  from  the  altar  both, 

With  many  a  youthful  pair, — 

Then  other  moons  had  birth, 
And  many  a  beauteous  sun, 

Then  we  had  gained  the  earth 
Whereon  hfe's  race  to  run. 

A  hundred  thousand  fold 

The  mighty  bond  was  sealed ; 
In  woods,  on  mountains  cold. 

In  bushes,  in  the  field. 
Within  the  wall,  in  caves, 

And  on  the  craggy  height. 
And  love,  e'en  o'er  the  waves, 

Bore  in  his  tube  the  light. 

Contented  we  remained. 

We  deemed  ourselves  a  pair ; 
'Twas  otherwise  ordained, 

For,  lo !  a  third  was  there ; 
A  fourth,  fifth,  sixth  appeared. 

And  sat  around  our  board  ; 
And  now  the  plants  we've  reared 

High  o'er  our  heads  have  soared. 


■'G' 


How  fair  and  pleasant  looks. 

On  yonder  beauteous  spot. 
Embraced  by  poplar-brooks, 

The  newly  finished  cot ! 
Who  is  it  there  that  sits 

In  that  glad  home  above  ? 
Is't  not  our  darling  Fritz 

With  his  own  darling  love  ? 


Beside  yon  precipice, 

Whence  pent-up  waters  steal. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  89 

And,  leaving  the  abyss, 

Fall  foaming  through  the  wheel,  — 
Though  people  ofteu  tell 

Of  millers'  wives  so  fair, 
Yet  none  can  e'er  excel 

Our  dearest  daughter  there  ! 

Yet  where  the  thick-set  green 

Stands  rouTid  you  church  and  sod, 
Where  the  old  fir-tree's  seen 

Alone  tow'rd  heaven  to  nod,  — 
'Tis  there  the  ashes  lie 

Of  our  untimely  dead  ; 
From  earth  our  gaze  on  high 

By  their  blest  memory's  led. 

See  how  yon  hill  is  bright 

With  billowy-waving  arms  ! 
The  force  returns,  whose  might 

Has  vanquished  war's  alarms. 
Who  proudly  hastens  here 

With  wreath-encircled  brow  ? 
'Tis  like  our  child  so  dear !  — 

Thus  Charles  comes  homeward  now. 

That  dearest  honoured  guest 

Is  welcomed  by  the  bride  ; 
She  makes  the  true  one  blest. 

At  the  glad  festal  tide. 
And  every  one  makes  haste 

To  join  the  dance  with  glee ; 
While  thou  with  wreaths  hast  graced 

The  youngest  children  three. 

To  sound  of  flute  and  horn 
The  time  appears  renewed, 


90  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

When  we,  in  love's  young  morn. 
In  the  glad  dance  upstood ; 

And  perfect  bliss  I  know 
Ere  the  year's  course  is  run. 

For  to  the  font  we  go 

With  grandson  and  with  son ! 


SONG   OF   FELLOWSHIP. 

[Written   and  sung  in  honour  of  the  birthday  of  the  Pastor 
Ewald,  at  the  time  of  Goethe's  happy  connection  with  Lili.] 

In  every  hour  of  joy 

That  love  and  wine  prolong, 
The  moments  we'll  employ 

To  carol  forth  this  song ! 
We're  gathered  in  His  name, 

Whose  power  hath  brought  us  here. 
He  kindled  first  our  flame, 

He  bids  it  burn  more  clear. 


Then  gladly  glow  to-night, 

And  let  our  hearts  combine ! 
Up !  quaff  with  fresh  delight 

This  glass  of  sparkhng  wine ! 
Up !  hail  the  joyous  hour, 

And  let  your  kiss  be  true ; 
With  each  new  bond  of  power 

The  old  becomes  the  new ! 


Who  in  our  circle  lives. 
And  is  not  happy  there  ? 

True  liberty  it  gives. 

And  brother's  love  so  fair. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  91 

Thus  heart  and  heart  through  life 

With  mutual  love  are  filled  ; 
And  by  no  causeless  strife 

Our  uuiou  is  e'er  chilled. 


Our  hopes  a  God  has  crowned 

With  Hfe-disceninient  free, 
And  all  we  view  around, 

Kenews  our  ecstasy. 
Ne'er  by  caprice  oppressed. 

Our  bliss  is  ne'er  destroyed  ; 
More  freely  throbs  our  breast, 

By  fancies  ne'er  alloyed. 


Where'er  our  foot  we  set. 

The  more  life's  path  extends, 
And  brighter,  brighter  yet 

Our  gaze  on  high  ascends. 
We  know  no  grief  or  pain, 

Though  all  things  fall  and  rise ; 
Long  may  we  thus  remain ! 

Eternal  be  our  ties! 


CONSTANCY   IN   CHANGE. 

Could  this  early  bliss  but  rest 

Constant  for  one  single  hour ! 
But  e'en  now  the  humid  west 

Scatters  many  a  vernal  shower. 
Should  the  verdure  give  me  joy  ? 

'Tis  to  it  I  owe  the  shade  ; 
Soon  will  storms  its  l)loom  destroy, 

Soon  will  Autumn  bid  it  fade. 


92  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Eagerly  thy  portion  seize, 

If  thou  wouldst  possess  the  fruit ! 
Fast  begin  to  ripen  these, 

And  the  rest  already  to  shoot. 
With  each  heavy  storm  of  rain 

Change  comes  o'er  thy  valley  fair ; 
Once,  alas !  but  not  again 

Can  the  same  stream  hold  thee  e'er. 


And  thyself,  what  erst  at  least 

Firm  as  rocks  appeared  to  rise, 
Walls  and  palaces  thou  seest 

But  with  ever-changing  eyes. 
Fled  for  ever  now  the  lip 

That  with  kisses  used  to  glow, 
And  the  foot,  that  used  to  skip 

O'er  the  mountain,  like  the  roe. 


And  the  hand,  so  true  and  warm. 

Ever  raised  in  charity. 
And  the  cunning-fashioned  form,  — 

All  are  now  changed  utterly. 
And  what  used  to  bear  thy  name 

When  upon  yon  spot  it  stood, 
Like  a  rolling  billow  came. 

Hastening  on  to  join  the  flood. 


Be  then  the  beginning  found 

With  the  end  in  unison, 
Swifter  than  the  forms  around 

Are  themselves  now  fleeting  on  ! 
Thank  the  merit  in  thy  breast, 

Thank  the  mould  within  thy  heart, 
That  the  Muses'  favour  blest 

Ne'er  will  perish,  ne'er  depart. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  93 


TABLE    SONG. 

[Composed  for  the  merry  party  already  mentioned,  on»  the  oc- 
casion of  the  departure  for  France  of  the  hereditary  prince,  who 
wa.s  one  of  the  number,  and  wlio  is  especially  alluded  to  in 
the  third  verse.] 

O'er  me,  —  how  T  cannot  say,  — 

ireavenly  rapture's  growing. 
Will  it  help  to  guide  my  way 

To  yon  stars  all-glowing? 
Yet  that  here  I'd  sooner  be, 

To  assert  I'm  able, 
Where,  with  wine  and  harmony, 

I  may  thump  the  table. 

Wonder  not,  my  dearest  friends, 

Wliat  'tis  gives  me  pleasure  ; 
For  of  all  that  earth  e'er  lends, 

'Tis  the  sweetest  treasure. 
Therefore  solemnly  I  swear, 

With  no  reservation, 
That  maliciously  I'll  ne'er 

Leave  my  present  station. 

Now  that  here  we're  gathered  round. 

Chasing  cares  and  slumbers, 
Let,  methouglit,  the  goblet  sound 

To  the  bard's  glad  numbers ! 
Many  a  hundred  mile  away. 

Go  those  we  love  dearly  ; 
Therefore  let  us  here  to-day 

Make  the  glass  ring  clearly ! 

Here's  ///.s  health  through  whom  we  live ! 
I  that  faith  inherit. 


94  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

To  our  king  the  next  toast  give, 

Honour  is  his  merit, 
'Gainst  each  in  and  outward  foe 

He's  our  rock  and  tower. 
Of  his  maintenance  thinks  he  though, 

More  that  grows  his  power. 

Next  to  her  good  health  I  drink, 
Who  has  stirred  my  passion  ; 

Of  his  mistress  let  each  think, 
Think  in  knightly  fashion. 

If  the  beauteous  maid  but  see 
Whom  'tis  I  now  call  so, 

Let  her  smiling  nod  to  me : 
"  Here's  my  love's  health  also." 

To  those  friends,  —  the  two  or  three,  - 

Be  our  next  toast  given, 
In  whose  presence  revel  we, 

In  the  silent  even,  — 
Who  the  gloomy  mist  so  cold 

Scatter  gently,  lightly ; 
To  those  friends,  then,  new  or  old, 

Let  the  toast  ring  brightly. 

Broader  now  the  stream  rolls  on. 

With  its  waves  more  swelling, 
While  in  higher,  nobler  tone, 

Comrades,  we  are  dweUiug,  — 
We  who  with  collected  might 

Bravely  cling  together, 
Both  in  fortune's  sunshine  bright. 

And  in  stormy  weather. 

Just  as  we  are  gathered  thus. 
Others  are  collected ; 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  95 

On  them,  therefore,  as  on  us, 

Be  Fate's  smile  dh-ected  ! 
From  the  spring-head  to  the  sea, 

Many  a  mill's  revolving. 
And  the  world's  prosperity 

Is  the  task  I'm  solving. 


WONT   AND   DONE. 

I  HAVE  loved ;  for  the  first  time  with  passion  I  rave ! 
I  then  was  the  servant,  but  now  am  the  slave ; 

I  then  was  the  servant  of  all : 
By  this  creature  so  charming  I  now  am  fast  bound. 
To  love  and  love's  guerdon  she  turns  all  around. 

And  her  my  sole  mistress  I  call. 

I've  had  faith  ;  for  the  first  time  my  faith  is  now  strong  ! 
And  though  matters  go  strangely,  though  matters  go 
wrong, 

To  the  ranks  of  the  faithful  I'm  true : 
Though  ofttimes  'twas  dark,  and  though  ofttimes  'twas 

drear, 
In  the  pressure  of  need,  and  when  danger  was  near, 
Yet  the  dawning  of  light  I  now  view. 

I  have  eaten ;  but  ne'er  have  thus  relished  my  food  ! 
For  when  glad  are  the  senses  and  joyous  the  blood, 

At  table  all  else  is  effaced : 
As  for  youth,  it  but  swallows,  then  whistles  an  air  ; 
As  for  me,  to  a  jovial  resort  I'd  repair, 

Where  to  eat  and  enjoy  what  I'd  taste. 

I  have  drunk  ;  but  have  never  thus  relished  the  bowl ! 
For  wine  makes  us  lords,  and  enlivens  the  soul, 
And  loosens  the  trembling  slave's  tongue. 


96  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Let's  seek  not  to  spare  then  the  heart-stirring  drink, 
For  though  in  the  barrel  the  old  wine  may  sink, 
In  its  place  will  fast  mellow  the  young. 

I  have  danced,  and  to  dancing  am  pledged  by  a  vow ! 
Though  no  caper  or  waltz  may  be  raved  about  now, 

In  a  dance  that's  becoming,  whirl  round. 
And  he  who  a  nosegay  of  flowers  has  dressed, 
And  cares  not  for  one  any  more  than  the  rest, 

With  a  garland  of  love  is  aye  crowned. 

Then  once  more  be  merry,  and  banish  all  woes ! 
For  he  who  but  gathers  the  blossoming  rose, 

By  its  thorns  will  be  tickled  alone. 
To-day  still,  as  yesterday,  ghmmers  the  star ; 
Take  care  from  all  heads  that  hang  down  to  keep  far, 

And  make  but  the  future  thine  own. 


YANITAS,   VANITATUM   VANITAS. 

On  nothing  have  I  set  my  heart, 

Hurrah ! 
So  in  the  world  I  bear  my  part, 

Hurrah ! 
And  whoso  will  be  friend  of  mine 
Must  join  with  me,  and  not  decline 
To  clink  a  glass  of  wine. 

I  set  my  heart  on  goods  and  wealth. 

Hurrah ! 
I  lost  thereby  my  nerves  and  health, 

Hurrah ! 
The  coins  they  rolled  off  far  and  wide, 
And  what  with  one  hand  I  did  hide, 
In  t'other  would  not  bide. 


POE.MS   OF  GOETHE  97 

On  woman  next  I  set  my  heart, 

Hurrah ! 
From  them  I  suffered  many  a  smart, 

Ah,  ah ! 
The  false  one  sought  another  lord, 
Witli  the  true  one  I  was  greatly  bored. 
The  best  could  not  afford. 

To  travel  next  I  did  apply. 

Hurrah ! 
From  house  and  kindred  oft'  did  fly. 

Ah,  ah ! 
I'm  pleased  with  nothing  I  have  seen,  — 
The  food  was  coarse,  the  bed  not  clean, 
None  knew  what  I  did  mean. 

On  honours  next  my  heart  I  set. 

Hurrah ! 
But  lo !  my  neighbour  more  did  get. 

Ah,  ah ! 
And  when  I  had  advanced  my  name 
The  folks  did  look  askance,  and  blame 
As  though  I  hurt  their  fame. 

I  set  my  heart  on  fighting  then. 

Hurrah ! 
And  many  a  battle  we  did  gain. 

Ah,  ah ! 
We  marched  the  foeraan's  country  through, 
Much  profit  there  did  not  accrue,  — 
My  leg's  loss  there  I  rue. 

Now  I  have  set  my  heart  on  nought. 

Hurrah ! 
The  whole  world  to  my  feet  is  brought. 

Ah,  ah ! 


98  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

My  song  and  feast  to  end  I'm  fain. 
So  every  one  your  glasses  drain,  — 
Let  not  a  drop  remain  ! 


FORTUNE    OF   WAR 

Nought  more  accursed  in  war  I  know 

Than  getting  off  scot-free  ; 
Inured  to  danger,  on  we  go 

In  constant  victory ; 
We  first  unpack,  then  pack  again, 

With  only  this  reward, 
That  when  we're  marching,  we  complain, 

And  when  in  camp  are  bored. 

The  time  for  billeting  comes  next,  — 

The  peasant  curses  it ; 
Each  nobleman  is  sorely  vexed, 

'Tis  hated  by  the  cit. 
Be  civil,  bad  though  be  thy  food. 

The  clowns  politely  treat ; 
If  to  our  hosts  we're  ever  rude. 

Jail-bread  we're  forced  to  eat. 

And  when  the  cannon  growl  around, 

And  small  arms  rattle  clear, 
And  trumpet,  trot,  and  drums  resound, 

We  merry  all  appear  ; 
And  as  it  in  the  fight  may  chance. 

We  yield,  then  charge  amain. 
And  now  retire,  and  now  advance, 

And  yet  a  cross  ne'er  gain. 

At  length  there  comes  a  musket-ball, 
And  hits  the  leg,  please  heaven ; 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  99 

And  then  our  troubles  vanish  all, 

For  to  the  town  we're  driven, 
(Well  covered  by  the  victor's  force), 

Where  we  in  wrath  first  came,  — 
The  women,  frightened  then,  of  course, 

Are  loving  now  and  tame. 

Cellar  and  heart  are  opened  wide, 

The  cook's  allowed  no  rest : 
While  beds  with  softest  down  supplied 

Are  by  our  members  pressed. 
The  nimble  lads  upon  us  wait. 

No  sleep  the  hostess  takes  ; 
Her  shift  is  torn  in  pieces  straight, — 

What  wondrous  lint  it  makes ! 

If  one  has  tended  carefully 

The  hero's  wounded  limb, 
Her  neighbour  cannot  rest,  for  she 

Has  also  tended  him. 
A  third  arrives  in  equal  haste. 

At  length  they  all  are  there, 
And  in  the  middle  he  is  placed 

Of  the  whole  band  so  fair  I 

On  good  authority  the  king 

Hears  how  we  love  the  fight, 
And  bids  them  cross  and  ribbon  bring. 

Our  coat  and  breast  to  dight. 
Say  if  a  better  fate  can  e'er 

A  son  of  Mars  pursue ! 
'Midst  tears  at  length  we  go  from  there, 

Beloved  and  honoured,  too. 


loo  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


COPTIC    SONG. 

Howe'er  they  may  wraDgle,  your  pundits  and  sages, 
And  love  of  contention  infects  all  the  breed, 

All  the  philosophers,  search  through  all  ages, 
Join  with  one  voice  in  the  following  creed : 
Fools  from  their  folly  'tis  hopeless  to  stay  ! 

Mules  will  be  mules,  by  the  law  of  their  mulishness ; 

Then  be  advised,  and  leave  fools  to  their  foohshness, 
What  from  an  ass  can  you  get  but  a  bray  ? 

When  Merhn  I  questioned,  the  old  necromancer, 
As  halo'd  with  light  in  his  coffin  he  lay, 

I  got  from  the  wizard  a  similar  answer, 

And  thus  ran  the  burden  of  what  he  did  say : 
Fools  from  their  folly  'tis  hopeless  to  stay ! 

Mules  will  be  mules,  by  the  law  of  their  mulishness ; 

Then  be  advised,  and  leave  fools  to  their  foohshness, 
What  from  an  ass  can  be  got  but  a  bray  ? 

And  up  on  the  wind-swept  peaks  of  Armenia, 
And  down  in  the  depths,  far  hid  from  the  day, 

Of  the  temples  of  Egypt  and  far  Abyssinia 
This,  and  but  this,  was  the  gospel  alway : 
Fools  from  their  folly  'tis  hopeless  to  stay ! 

Mules  will  be  mules,  by  the  law  of  their  muhshness ; 

Then  be  advised,  and  leave  fools  to  their  foolishness, 
What  from  an  ass  can  be  got  but  a  bray  ? 


ANOTHER. 

Go  !  obedient  to  my  call, 

Turn  to  profit  thy  young  days, 
Wiser  make  ])etimes  thy  breast ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  loi 

lu  Fate's  balance  as  it  sways, 
Seldom  is  the  cock  at  rest ; 
Thou  must  either  mount,  or  fall, 

Thou  must  either  rule  and  win, 

Or  submissively  give  in. 
Triumph,  or  else  yield  to  clamour, 
Be  the  anvil  or  the  hammer. 


OPEN   TABLE. 

Many  a  guest  I'd  see  to-day, 

Met  to  taste  my  dishes ! 
Food  in  plenty  is  prepared. 

Birds,  and  game,  and  fishes. 
Invitations  all  have  had, 

All  proposed  attending. 
Johnny,  go  and  look  around  ' 

Are  they  hither  wending  ? 

Pretty  girls  I  hope  to  see, 

Dear  and  guileless  misses, 
Ignorant  how  sweet  it  is 

Giving  tender  kisses. 
Invitations  all  have  had, 

All  propo.sed  attending. 
Johnny,  go  and  look  around  ! 

Are  they  hither  wending  ? 

Women  also  I  expect, 

Loving  toward  their  spouses, 
Whose  rude  grumbling  in  their  breasts 

Greater  love  but  rouses. 
Invitations  they've  had,  too, 

All  proposed  attending. 
Johnny,  go  and  look  around  ! 

Are  they  hither  wending  ? 


102  POEMS   OF  GOETHE 

I've  too  asked  young  gentlemen, 

Who  are  far  from  haughty, 
And  whose  purses  are  all  well-stocked, 

Well  behaved,  not  naughty. 
These  especially  I  asked. 

All  proposed  attending. 
Johnny,  go  and  look  around ! 

Are  they  hither  wending  ? 

Men  I  summoned  with  respect. 

Who  their  own  wives  treasure  ; 
Who  in  ogling  other  Fair 

Never  take  a  pleasure. 
To  my  greetings  they  replied. 

All  proposed  attending. 
Johnny,  go  and  look  around ! 

Are  they  hither  wending  ? 


Then  to  make  our  joy  complete, 

Poets  I  invited. 
Who  love  others'  songs  far  more 

Than  what  they've  indited. 
All  acceded  to  my  wish, 

All  proposed  attending. 
Johnny,  go  and  look  around  ! 

Are  they  hither  wending  ? 

Not  a  single  one  appears, 

None  seem  this  way  posting. 
All  the  soup  boils  fast  away, 

Joints  are  over-roasting. 
Ah,  I  fear  that  we  have  been 

Rather  too  unbending ! 
Johnny,  toll  me  what  you  think  ! 

None  are  hither  wending. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  103 

Johnny,  run,  ;ui<l  quickly  bring 

Other  guests  to  me  now ! 
Each  arriving  as  he  is  — 

That's  the  plan,  I  see  now. 
In  the  town  at  once  'tis  known 

Every  one's  commending. 
Johnny,  open  all  the  doors  : 

All  are  hither  wending. 


THE    RECKONING. 

LEADER. 

Let  no  cares  now  hover  o'er  us ! 

Let  the  wine  unsparing  run  ! 
Wilt  thou  swell  our  merry  chorus  ? 

Hast  thou  all  thy  duty  done  ? 

SOLO. 

Two  young  folks  —  the  thing  is  curious 

Loved  each  other;  yesterday 
Both  quite  mild,  to-day  quite  furious, 

Next  day,  quite  the  deuce  to  pay ! 
If  lier  neck  she  there  was  stooping, 

He  must  here  needs  pull  his  hair. 
I  revived  their  spirits  drooping, 

And  they're  now  a  happy  pair. 

CHORUS. 

Surely  we  for  wine  may  languish ! 

Let  the  bumper  then  go  round ! 
For  all  sighs  and  groans  of  anguish 

Thou  to-day  in  joy  hast  drowned. 


I04  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

SOLO. 

Why,  young  orphan,  all  this  wailing  ? 
"  Would  to  heaven  that  I  were  dead ! 
For  my  guardian's  craft  prevailing 

Soon  will  make  me  beg  my  bread." 
Knowing  well  the  rascal  genus, 

Into  court  I  dragged  the  knave ; 
Fair  the  judges  were  between  us, 

And  the  maiden's  wealth  did  save. 

CHOKUS. 

Surely  we  for  wine  may  languish ! 

Let  the  bumper  then  go  round  ! 
For  all  sighs  and  groans  of  anguish 

Thou  to-day  in  joy  hast  drowned. 

SOLO. 

To  a  httle  fellow,  quiet, 

Unpretending  and  subdued, 
Has  a  big  clown,  running  riot, 

Been  to-day  extremely  rude. 
I  bethought  me  of  my  duty. 

And  my  courage  swelled  apace, 
So  I  spoiled  the  rascal's  beauty, 

Slashing  him  across  the  face. 

CHORUS. 

Surely  we  for  wine  may  languish ! 

Let  the  bumper  then  go  round  ! 
For  all  sighs  and  groans  of  anguish 

Thou  to-day  in  joy  hast  drowned. 

SOLO. 

Brief  must  be  my  explanation, 
For  I  really  have  done  nought. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  105 

Free  from  trouble  and  vexation, 

I  a  landlord's  business  bought. 
There  I've  done  with  all  due  ardour 

All  that  duty  ordered  me ; 
Each  one  asked  me  for  the  larder, 

And  there  was  no  scarcity. 

CHORUS. 

Surely  we  for  wine  may  languish  ! 

Let  the  bumper  then  go  round ! 
For  all  sighs  and  gi'oans  of  anguish 

Thou  to-day  in  joy  hast  drowned. 

LEADER. 

Each  should  thus  make  proclamation 

Of  what  he  did  well  to-day ! 
That's  the  match  whose  conflagration 

Should  inflame  our  tuneful  lay. 
Let  it  be  our  precept  ever 

To  admit  no  waverer  here ! 
For  to  act  the  good  endeavour, 

None  but  rascals  meek  appear. 

CHORUS. 

Surely  we  for  wine  may  languish ! 

Let  the  bumper  then  go  round  ! 
For  all  .sighs  and  groans  of  anguish 

We  have  now  in  rapture  drowned. 

TRIO. 

Let  each  merry  minstrel  enter, 

He's  right  welcome  to  our  hall ! 
'Tis  but  with  the  self-tormentor 

That  we  are  not  liberal ; 


io6  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

^  For  we  fear  that  his  caprices, 

That  his  eyebrows  dark  and  sad, 
That  his  grief  that  never  ceases 
Hide  an  empty  heart,  or  bad. 

CHORUS. 

No  one  now  for  wine  shall  languish  ! 

Here  no  minstrel  shall  be  found, 
Who  all  sighs  and  groans  of  anguish 

Has  not  first  in  rapture  drowned  ! 


MIGNON. 

[This  universally  known  poem  is  also  to  be  found  in  "  Wilhelm 
Meister."  ] 

"  Knowest  thou  the  land  where  citron-apples  bloom. 

And  oranges  like  gold  in  leafy  gloom, 

A  gentle  wind  from  deep  blue  heaven  blows, 

The  myrtle  thick,  and  high  the  laurel  grows  ? 

Knowest  thou  it  then  ? 

'Tis  there !     'Tis  there  ! 
0  my  true  loved  one,  thou  with  me  must  go ! 

"  Knowest  thou  the  house,  its  porch  with  pillars  tall, 
The  rooms  do  glitter,  glitters  bright  the  hall, 
And  marble  statues  stand,  and  look  each  one : 
What's  this,  poor  child,  to  thee  they've  done  ? 
Knowest  thou  it  then  ? 

'Tis  there  !     'Tis  there ! 
O  my  protector,  thou  with  me  must  go ! 

"  Knowest  thou    the   hill,   the   bridge  that    hangs   on 

clouds, 
The  mules  in  mist  grope  o'er  the  torrent  loud, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  107 

In  caves  lay  coiled  the  dragon's  ancient  hood, 
The  crag  leaps  down,  and  over  it  the  flood : 
Knowest  thou  it  then  ? 

'Tis  there  !     'Tis  there ! 
Our  way  runs  ;  0  my  father,  wilt  thou  go  ? " 


GENERAL  CONFESSION. 

In  this  noble  ring  to-day 
Let  my  warning  shame  ye  ! 

Listen  to  my  solemn  voice, — 
Seldom  does  it  name  ye. 

Many  a  thing  have  ye  intended, 

Many  a  thing  have  badly  ended, 
And  now  1  must  blame  ye. 

At  some  moment  in  our  lives 

We  must  all  repent  us  ! 
So  confess,  with  pious  trust, 

All  your  sins  momentous  ! 
Error's  crooked  pathways  shunning. 
Let  us,  on  the  straight  road  running. 

Honestly  content  us ! 

Yes !  we've  oft,  when  waking,  dreamed, 

Let's  confess  it  rightly  ; 
Left  undrained  the  brimming  cup. 

When  it  sparkled  brightly  ; 
Many  a  shepherd's-hour's  soft  blisses, 
Many  a  dear  mouth's  flying  kisses 

We've  neglected  lightly. 

Mute  and  silent  have  we  sat. 
Whilst  the  blockheads  prated. 


io8  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

''  And  above  e'en  song  divine 

Have  their  babblings  rated  ; 
To  account  we've  even  called  us 
For  the  moments  that  enthralled  us 
With  enjoyment  freighted. 

If  thou'lt  absolution  grant 

To  thy  true  ones  ever, 
We,  to  execute  thy  will, 

Ceaseless  will  endeavour. 
From  half-measures  strive  to  weac  us, 
Wholly,  fairly,  well  demean  us, 

Eesting,  flagging  never. 

At  all  blockheads  we'll  at  once 
Let  our  laugh  ring  clearly. 

And  the  pearly-foaming  wine 
Never  sip  at  merely. 

Ne'er  with  eye  alone  give  kisses. 

But  with  boldness  suck  in  blisses 
From  those  lips  loved  dearly. 


EEGO   BIBAMUS! 

Foe  a  praiseworthy  object  we're  now  gathered  here. 

So,  brethren,  sing :  Ergo  bibamus  ! 
Tho'  talk  may  be  hushed,  yet  the  glasses  ring  clear, 

Piemember  then.  Ergo  bibamus  ! 
In  truth  'tis  an  old,  'tis  an  excellent  word. 
With  its  sound  so  befitting  each  bosom  is  stirred, 
And  an  echo  the  festal  hall  filling  is  heard, 

A  glorious  Ergo  bibajvius  ! 

I  saw  mine  own  love  in  her  beauty  so  rare. 
And  bethought  me  of  :  Ergo  bibamus  ; 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  109 

So  I  gently  approached,  and  she  let  me  stand  there, 

While  1  helped  myself,  thinking :  BibaiMUS  ! 
And  when  she's  appeared,  and  will  clasp  you  and  kiss. 
Or  when  tliose  embraces  and  kisses  ye  miss. 
Take  refuge,  till  found  is  some  worthier  bliss, 
In  the  comforting  Ergo  bibamus  ! 


I  am  called  by  my  fate  far  away  from  each  friend ; 

Ye  loved  ones,  then :  Ergo  bibamus  ! 
With  wallet  light-laden  from  hence  I  must  wend, 

So  double  our  Ergo  bibamus  ! 
Whate'er  to  his  treasure  the  niggard  may  add, 
Yet  regard  for  the  joyous  will  ever  be  had. 
For  gladness  lends  ever  its  charms  to  the  glad, 

So,  brethren,  sing :  Ergo  bibamus  ! 

And  what  shall  we  say  of  to-day  as  it  flies  ? 

I  thought  but  of :  Ergo  bibamus  ! 
'Tis  one  of  those  truly  that  seldom  arise, 

So  again  and  again  shig  :  Bibamus  ! 
For  joy  through  a  wide-open  portal  it  guides, 
Bright  ghtter  the  clouds  as  the  curtain  divides. 
And  a  form,  a  divine  one,  to  greet  us  in  ghdes. 

While  we  thunder  our :  Ergo  bibamus. 


THE   MINSTREL. 

[This  fine  poem  is  introduced  in  the  second  book  of  "  Wilhelm 
Meister."] 

"  What  tuneful  strains  salute  mine  ear 
Without  the  castle  walls  ? 
Oh,  let  tlie  song  reecho  here, 
Within  our  festal  halls  ! " 


no  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Thus  spake  the  king,  the  page  out-hied ; 
The  boy  returned  ;  the  monarch  cried  : 
"  Admit  the  old  man  yooder  !  " 

"  All  hail,  ye  noble  lords  to-night ! 

All  hail,  ye  beauteous  dames ! 
Star  placed  by  star  !     What  heavenly  sight ! 

Who  e'er  can  tell  their  names  ? 
Within  this  ghttering  hall  sublime. 
Be  closed  mine  eyes !  'tis  not  the  time 

For  me  to  feast  my  wonder." 

The  minstrel  straightway  closed  his  eyes, 

And  woke  a  thrilling  tone  ; 
The  knights  looked  on  in  knightly  guise, 

Fair  looks  toward  earth  were  thrown. 
The  monarch,  ravished  by  the  strain. 
Bade  them  bring  forth  a  golden  chain, 

To  be  his  numbers'  guerdon. 

"  The  golden  chain  give  not  to  me. 

But  give  the  chain  to  those 
In  whose  bold  face  we  shivered  see 

The  lances  of  our  foes. 
Or  give  it  to  thy  chancellor  there ; 
With  other  burdens  he  may  bear 

Tliis  one  more  golden  burden. 

"  I  sing,  like  birds  of  blithesome  note, 

That  in  the  branches  dwell ; 
The  song  that  rises  from  the  throat 

Repays  the  minstrel  well. 
One  boon  I'd  crave,  if  not  too  bold  — 
One  bumper  in  a  cup  of  gold 

Be  as  my  guerdon  given." 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  m 

The  bowl  he  raised,  the  bowl  he  quaffed  : 

"  Oh,  driuk,  with  solace  fraught ! 
0  house  thrice-blest,  where  such  a  draught 

A  triHiug  gift  is  thought ! 
When  Fortune  smiles,  remember  me, 
And  as  I  thank  you  heartily. 

As  warmly  thank  ye.  Heaven  ! " 


EPIPHANIAS. 

The  three  holy  kings  with  their  star's  bright  ray,  • 
They  eat  and  they  driuk,  but  had  rather  not  pay ; 
They  like  to  eat  and  drink  away, 
They  eat  and  drink,  but  had  rather  not  pay. 

The  three  holy  kings  have  all  come  here. 
In  numbers  not  four,  but  three  they  appear ; 
And  if  a  fourth  joined  the  other  three, 
Increased  by  one  their  number  would  be. 

The  first  am  I,  —  the  fair  and  the  white, 
I  ought  to  be  seen  when  the  sun  shines  bright. 
But,  alas !  with  all  my  spices  and  myrrh. 
No  girl  now  likes  me,  —  I  please  not  her. 

The  next  am  I,  —  the  brown  and  the  long. 
Known  well  to  women,  known  well  to  song, 
Instead  of  spices,  'tis  gold  I  bear. 
And  so  I'm  welcome  everywhere. 

The  last  am  I,  —  the  black  and  small, 

And  fain  would  be  right  merry  withal. 

I  hke  to  eat  and  to  (h-ink  full  measure, 

I  eat  and  diink,  and  give  thanks  with  pleasure. 


112  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

The  three  holy  kings  are  friendly  and  mild, 
They  seek  the  Mother,  and  seek  the  Child ; 
The  pious  Joseph  is  sitting  by, 
The  ox  and  the  ass  on  their  litter  lie. 

We're  bringing  gold,  we're  bringing  myrrh, 
The  women  incense  always  prefer ; 
And  if  we  have  wine  of  a  worthy  growth, 
We  three  to  drink  like  six  are  not  loth- 

As  here  we  see  fair  lads  and  lasses. 
But  not  a  sign  of  oxen  or  asses, 
We  know  that  we  have  gone  astray, 
And  so  go  further  on  our  way. 


BALLAD 

OF  THE  EXILED  AND  RETURNING  COUNT. 

[Goethe  began  to  write  an  opera  called  "  Lowenstuhl,"  founded 
upon  the  old  tradition  which  forms  the  subject  of  this  ballad,  but 
he  never  carried  out  his  design.] 

Come  in,  dear  old  man,  come  inside,  do  come  on ! 
Down  here  in  the  hall  we  shall  be  quite  alone. 

And  the  gate  we  will  lock  altogether. 
For,  mother  is  praying,  and  father  is  gone 

To  shoot  the  wild  wolves  on  the  heather. 
Oh !  sing  us  a  tale,  then  again  and  again. 

That  my  brother  and  1  learn  the  measure ; 
To  hear  a  fine  minstrel  we  shall  be  so  fain. 

The  children  will  listen  with  pleasure. 

"  In  terror  of  night,  during  hostile  attack, 
On  house  full  of  splendour  he's  turning  his  back. 
His  most  precious  things  he  did  bury. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  113 

The  wicket  to  open  the  count  is  not  slack ; 

What,  then,  in  his  arms  does  he  carry  ? 
What,  under  his  mantle  may  hidden  he  keep  ? 

What  bears  he  to  distance,  what  treasure  ? 
His  daughter  it  is,  there  the  child  is  asleep  "  — 

The  children  are  list'ning  wath  pleasure. 

"  The  morning  is  breaking,  the  world  is  so  wide, 
In  valleys  and  mountains  does  shelter  abide, 

The  villagers  kindness  are  showing; 
A  minstrel,  thus  long  he  must  wander  and  stride. 

His  beard  long  and  longer  is  growing ; 
But  lovely  grows  also  the  child  on  his  arm. 

As  though  he  of  wealth  had  rich  measure ; 
His  mantle  protects  her  from  every  harm  "  — 

The  children  are  list'ning  with  pleasure. 

"  And  time  many  years  in  its  course  onward  drags. 
The  mantle  is  faded,  it  has  fallen  to  rags. 

It  could  her  not  hold  any  longer. 
The  father  beholds  her,  his  joy  never  flags. 

Each  day  it  gi-ows  stronger  and  stronger. 
So  noble,  so  beautiful  she  does  appear. 

He  deems  her  beyond  ev'ry  treasure ; 
How  rich  she  is  making  her  father  so  dear  !  "  — 

The  children  are  list'ning  with  pleasure. 

"  Up  rides  a  princely  and  chivalrous  knight. 
She  reaches  her  hand  out,  an  alms  to  invite ; 

It  is  not  such  gift  he  would  gi-ant  her. 
The  tender  hand  grasping  with  full,  manly  might : 

'  For  life,'  he  exclaimed,  '  I  do  want  her  ! ' 
'  Wilt  make  her  a  princess  ? '  the  old  man  replied, 

'  Dost  recognise  her  as  thy  treasure  ? 
Then  be  she  betrothed  on  this  verdant  hillside  ! '  "  — 
The  children  are  list'ning  with  pleasure. 


114  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

"  The  priest,  in  the  holy  place,  blesses  the  pair, 
With  joy  and  with  grief  she  now  hence  doth  repair. 

She  hkes  not  to  part  with  her  father. 
The  old  man  is  waud'ring  now  here  and  now  there. 

From  pain  he  doth  happiness  gather. 
Thus  have  I  for  years  kept  my  daugliter  in  sight, 

My  grandchild,  like  her,  a  sweet  treasure  ; 
I  bless  them  by  day  and  I  bless  them  by  night "  — 

The  children  are  Hst'ning  with  pleasure. 

He  blesses  the  children,  he  blesses  them  twice ; 
There's  noise  at  the  gate,  it  is  burst  in  a  trice. 

The  children  the  old  man  environ  — 
"  Why,  beggar,  why,  fool,  doth  my  children  entice  ? 

On,  seize  him,  ye  men  clad  in  iron  ! 
Away  to  the  dungeon  with  him  !  "  he  repeats  ; 

From  far  as  she  hears  the  harsh  measure, 
Down  hastens  the  mother,  and  flatt'ring  entreats  — 

The  children,  they  hear  her  with  pleasure. 

The  men  stand  apart  from  the  worthy  old  man, 
Both  mother  and  children  beseech  all  they  can ; 

The  princely  and  proud  man  represses 
The  furious  rage  which  their  prayers  but  fan, 

Till  bursts  what  his  spirit  distresses : 
*'  You  beggarly  brood,  high  nobihty's  blight ! 

My  patience  you've  tried  beyond  measure ; 
You  bring  me  destruction  !  It  serves  me  quite  right  "- 

The  children  hear  this  with  displeasure. 

The  noble  old  man  stands  with  look  darting  fire, 
The  men  who  have  seized  him  still  farther  retire, 

With  fury  the  other  is  flaring ! 
"  Oft  cursed  have  I  wedlock  so  mean  and  so  dire, 

Such  blossoms  such  fruits  e'er  are  bearing ! 
'Tis  justly  denied,  that  acquired  be,  the  grace 

E'er  can,  of  nobility's  treasure. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  115 

The  beggar  has  hoiiic  me  a  beggarly  race"  — 
Tiie  childreu  still  list  with  displeasure. 

"  And  if  thus  the  husbaud,  the  father  rejects 
You,  rashly  the  most  sacred  ties  disconnects. 

You'll  tiud  in  your  graudsire  a  father ! 
The  beggar  your  father  so  little  respects 

Will  honour  and  wealth  for  you  gather. 
This  castle  is  mine  !     Thou  didst  rob  me  of  it ; 

I  know  where  I've  hid  ev'ry  treasure  ; 
I  bear  with  me  warrant  by  royal  hand  writ!"  — 

The  children  are  list'ning  Avith  pleasure. 

"  Legitimate  king  has  returned  to  his  land, 

Gives  back  what  was  taken  from  true  followers'  band, 

Laws  gentle  and  mild  is  proclaiming." 
The  old  man  thus  spoke  with  a  look  kind  and  bland, 
"  My  son,  thee  no  longer  I'm  blaming  ; 
Return  to  thyself  from  thy  fury's  wild  flood, 

I'll  loosen  the  seals  of  each  treasure, 
Thy  princess  has  borne  thee  a  true  princely  blood  "  — 

The  children  are  list'ning  with  pleasure. 


THE  FAITHLESS  BOY. 

There  was  a  wooer  blithe  and  gay,  — 

A  son  of  France  was  he,  — 
Who  in  his  arms  for  many  a  day, 

As  though  his  bride  were  she, 
A  poor  young  maiden  had  caressed. 
And  fondly  kissed,  and  fondly  pressed, 

And  then  at  length  deserted. 

When  this  was  told  the  nut-brown  maid. 
Her  senses  straightway  fled  ; 


n6  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

She  laughed  and  wept,  and  vowed  and  prayed, 

And  presently  was  dead. 
The  hour  her  soul  its  farewell  took, 
The  hoy  was  sad,  with  terror  shook, 

Then  sprang  upon  his  charger. 

He  drove  his  spurs  into  his  side, 
And  scoured  the  country  round  ; 

But  wheresoever  he  might  ride, 
No  rest  for  him  was  found. 

For  seven  long  days  and  nights  he  rode, 

It  stormed,  the  waters  overflowed, 
It  blustered,  lightened,  thundered. 

On  rode  he  through  the  tempest's  din, 

Till  he  a  building  spied ; 
In  search  of  shelter  crept  he  in, 

When  he  his  steed  had  tied. 
And  as  he  groped  his  doubtful  way. 
The  ground  began  to  rock  and  sway,  — 

He  fell  a  hundred  fathoms. 


When  he  recovered  from  his  blow. 
He  saw  three  lights  pass  by ; 

He  sought  in  their  pursuit  to  go, 
The  lights  appeared  to  fly. 

They  led  his  footsteps  all  astray, 

Up,  down,  through  many  a  narrow  way 
Througjh  ruined  desert  cellars. 


When  lo  !  he  stood  within  a  hall, 
A  hundred  guests  sat  there. 

With  hollow  eyes,  and  grinning  all ; 
They  bade  him  taste  the  fare. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  117 

He  saw  his  sweetheart  'midst  the  throng, 
Wrapped  up  in  grave-clothes  white  and  long ; 
She  turned,  and ^ 


THE  EEL -KING. 

Who  rides  there  so  late  through  the  night  dark  and 

drear  ? 
The  father  it  is,  with  his  infant  so  dear ; 
He  holdeth  the  boy  tightly  clasped  in  his  arm, 
He  holdeth  him  safely,  he  keepeth  him  warm. 

"  My   son,  wherefore    seek'st  thou  thy   face   thus   to 

hide  ? " 
"  Look,  father,  the  Erl-King  is  close  by  our  side ! 
Dost  see  not  the  Erl-King,  with  crown  and  with  train  ? " 
"  My  son,  'tis  the  mist  rising  over  the  plain." 


"  Oh,  come,  thou  dear  infant !  oh,  come  thou  with  me ! 
Full  many  a  game  I  will  play  there  with  thee ; 
On  my  strand,  lovely  flowers  their  blossoms  unfold, 
My  mother  shall  grace  thee  with  garments  of  gold." 

"  My  father,  my  father,  and  dost  thou  not  hear 

The  words  that  the  Erl-King  now  breathes  in  mine 

ear  ? " 
"  Be  calm,  dearest  child,  'tis  thy  fancy  deceives  ; 
'Tis  the  sad  wind  that  sighs  through  the  withering 

leaves." 

"  Wilt  go,  then,  dear  infant,  wilt  go  with  me  there  ? 
My  daughters  shall  tend  thee  with  sisterly  care ; 

1  This  ballad  is  iutroduced  in  Act  II.  of  "  Claudine  of  "Villa 
Bella,"  where  it  is  suddenly  broken  off,  as  it  is  here. 


ii8  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

My  daughters  by  night  tlieir  glad  festival  keep, 
They'll  dance  thee,  and  rock  thee,  and  sing  thee  to 
sleep." 

"  My  father,  my  father,  and  dost  thou  not  see, 

How  the  Erl-King  his  daughters  has  brought  here  for 

me  ? " 
"  My  darling,  my  darhng,  I  see  it  aright, 
'Tis  the  aged  gray  willows  deceiving  thy  sight." 

"  I  love  thee,  I'm  charmed  by  thy  beauty,  dear  boy ! 
And  if  thou'rt  unwilling,  then  force  I'll  employ." 
"  My  father,  my  father,  he  seizes  me  fast. 
Full  sorely  the  Erl-King  has  hurt  me  at  last." 

The  father  now  gallops,  with  terror  half  wild, 
He  grasps  in  his  arms  the  poor  shuddering  child : 
He  reaches  his  courtyard  with  toil  and  with  dread,  — 
The  child  in  his  arms  finds  he  motionless,  dead. 


JOHANNA  SEBUS. 

[To  the  memory  of  an  excellent  and  beautiful  girl  of  seventeen, 
belonging  to  the  village  of  Brieneu,  who  perished  on  the  13th  of 
Januaiy,  1809,  whilst  giving  help  on  the  occasion  of  the  breaking 
up  of  the  ice  on  the  Rhine,  and  the  bursting  of  the  dam  of  Claver- 
ham.] 

The  dam  breaks  down,  the  ice-plain  growls. 
The  floods  arise,  the  water  howls. 
"  I'll  bear  thee,  mother,  across  the  swell, 

'Tis  not  yet  high,  I  can  wade  right  well." 
"  Eemember  us,  too  !  in  what  danger  are  we  ! 
Thy  fellow  lodger  and  children  three ! 
The  trembling  woman  !  —  Thou'rt  going  away  ! " 
She  bears  the  mother  across  the  spray. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  119 

"  Quick  !  haste  to  the  mound,  aud  awhile  there  wait, 
I'll  soon  return,  and  all  will  be  straight. 
The  mound's  close  by,  and  safe  from  the  wet ; 
But  take  my  goat,  too,  my  darhng  pet ! " 

The  dam  dissolves,  the  ice-plain  growls. 
The  floods  dash  on,  the  water  howls. 
She  places  the  mother  safe  on  the  shore ; 
Fair  Susan  then  turns  toward  the  flood  once  more. 
"Oh,    whither?      Oh,   whither?      The  breadth    fast 
grows. 
Both  here  and  there  the  water  o'erflows. 
Wilt  venture,  thou  rash  one,  the  billows  to  brave  ? " 
"  They  shall,  and  they  must  be  preserved  from 
the  wave  ! " 

The  dam  disappears,  the  water  growls. 
Like  ocean  billows  it  heaves  and  howls. 
Fair  Susan  returns  by  the  way  she  had  tried. 
The  waves  roar  around,  but  she  turns  not  aside  ; 
She  reaches  the  mound  and  the  neighbour  straight, 
But  for  her  and  the  children,  alas,  too  late ! 

The  dam  disappeared,  —  like  a  sea  it  growls. 
Round  a  hillock  in  circling  eddies  it  howls. 

The  foaming  abyss  gapes  wide,  and  whirls  round, 

The  women  and  children  are  borne  to  the  gi-ound ; 

The  horn  of  the  goat  l)y  one  is  seized  fast. 

But,  ah,  they  all  must  perish  at  last ! 

Fair  Susan  still  stands  there,  untouched  by  the  wave ! 

The  youngest,  the  noblest,  oh,  who  now  will  save ! 

Fair  Susan  still  stands  there,  as  bright  as  a  star. 

But,  alas !  all  hope,  all  assistance  is  far. 

The  foaming  waters  around  her  roar. 

To  save  her  no  bark  pushes  off  from  the  shore. 

Her  gaze  once  again  she  lifts  up  to  heaven. 

Then  gently  away  by  the  flood  she  is  driven. 


I20  POEMS   OF  GOETHE 

no  dam,  no  plain  !  to  make  the  place 
Some  straggling  trees  are  the  only  trace. 
The  rushiEg  water  the  wilderness  covers, 
Yet  Susan's  image  still  over  it  hovers.  — 
The  water  sinks,  the  plains  reappear. 
Fair  Susan's  lamented  with  many  a  tear,  — 
May  he  who  refuses  her  story  to  tell. 
Be  neglected  in  hfe  and  in  death  as  well ! 


THE  VIOLET. 

Upon  the  mead  a  violet  stood, 
Retiring,  and  of  modest  mood. 

In  truth,  a  violet  fair. 
Then  came  a  youthful  shepherdess, 
And  roamed  with  sprightly  joyousness, 
And  blithely  wooed 

With  carols  sweet  the  air. 


"  Ah  !  "  thought  the  violet,  "  had  I  been 
For  but  the  smallest  moment  e'en 
Nature's  most  beauteous  flower, 
Till  gathered  by  my  love,  and  pressed, 
When  weary,  'gainst  her  gentle  breast, 
For  e'en,  for  e'en 

One  quarter  of  an  hour  ! " 

Alas  !  alas !  the  maid  drew  nigh, 
The  violet  failed  to  meet  her  eye. 

She  crushed  the  violet  sweet. 
It  sank  and  died,  yet  murmured  not : 
"  And  if  I  die,  oh,  happy  lot. 
For  her  I  die, 

And  at  her  very  feet ! " 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  121 

THE  BEAUTEOUS  FLOWER. 

SONG   OF   THE   IMPKISONED   COUNT. 

COUNT. 

I  KNOW  a  flower  of  beauty  rare, 

Ah,  how  I  hold  it  dear ! 
To  seek  it  I  would  fain  repair, 

"Were  I  not  prisoned  here. 
My  sorrow  sore  oppresses  me, 
For  when  I  was  at  liberty, 

I  had  it  close  beside  me. 

Though  from  this  castle's  walls  so  steep 

I  cast  mine  eyes  around. 
And  gaze  oft  from  the  lofty  keep, 

The  flower  cannot  be  found. 
Whoe'er  would  bring  it  to  my  sight, 
Whether  a  vassal  he,  or  knight. 

My  dearest  friend  I'd  deem  him. 

THE    KOSE. 

I  blossom  fair,  —  thy  tale  of  woes 

I  hear  from  'neath  thy  grate. 
Thou  doubtless  meanest  me,  the  rose. 

Poor  knight  of  high  estate  ! 
Thou  hast  in  truth  a  lofty  mind ; 
The  queen  of  flowers  then  is  enshrined, 

I  doubt  not,  in  thy  bosom. 


COUNT, 

Thy  red,  in  dress  of  green  arrayed, 
As  worth  all  praise  I  hold ; 


122  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

And  so  thou'rt  treasured  by  each  maid, 

Like  precious  stones  or  gold. 
Thy  wreath  adorns  the  fairest  face, 
But  still  thou'rt  not  the  flower  whose  grace 
I  honour  here  in  silence. 


THE   LILY. 

The  rose  is  wont  with  pride  to  swell, 

And  ever  seeks  to  rise ; 
But  ejentle  sweethearts  love  full  well 

The  lily's  charms  to  prize. 
The  heart  that  fills  a  bosom  true, 
That  is,  like  me,  unsulhed,  too. 

My  merit  values  duly. 


COUNT. 

In  truth,  I  hope  myself  unstained. 
And  free  from  grievous  crime ; 

Yet  I  am  here  a  prisoner  chained, 
And  pass  in  grief  my  time. 

To  me  thou  art  an  image  sure 

Of  many  a  maiden,  mild  and  pure. 
And  yet  I  know  a  dearer. 


THE    PINK. 

That  must  be  me,  the  pink,  who  scent 

The  warder's  garden  here. 
Or  wherefore  is  he  so  intent 

My  charms  with  care  to  rear  ? 
My  petals  stand  in  beauteous  ring, 
Sweet  incense  all  around  I  fling. 

And  boast  a  thousand  colours. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  123 

COUNT. 

The  pink,  in  truth,  we  should  not  sHght, 

It  is  the  gardener's  pride  ; 
It  now  must  stand  exposed  to  light, 

Now  in  the  shade  abide. 
Yet  what  can  make  the  Count's  heart  glow 
Is  no  mere  pomp  of  outward  show ; 

It  is  a  silent  flower. 


THE    VIOLET. 

Here  stand  I,  modestly  half  hid, 
And  fain  would  silence  keep  ; 

Yet  since  to  speak  I  now  am  bid, 
I'll  break  my  silence  deep. 

If,  worthy  Knight,  I  am  that  flower, 

It  grieves  me  that  I  have  not  power 
To  breathe  forth  all  my  sweetness. 


COUNT. 

The  violet's  charms  I  prize,  indeed, 

So  modest  'tis,  and  fair, 
And  smells  so  sweet ;  yet  more  I  need 

To  ease  my  heavy  care. 
The  truth  I'll  whisper  in  thine  ear : 
Upon  these  rocky  heights  so  drear, 

I  cannot  find  the  loved  one. 


The  truest  maiden  'neath  the  sky 
Roams  near  the  stream  below. 

And  breathes  forth  many  a  gentle  sigh, 
Till  I  from  hence  can  go. 

And  when  she  plucks  a  floweret  blue, 

And  says  "  Forget-me-not !  "  —  I,  too. 
Though  far  away,  can  feel  it. 


124  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Ay,  distance  only  swells  love's  might, 

When  fondly  love  a  pair ; 
Though  prisoned  in  the  dungeon's  night, 

In  hf  e  I  linger  there ; 
And  when  my  heart  is  breaking  nigh, 
"  Forget-me-not !  "  is  all  I  cry, 

And  straightway  life  returneth. 


SIE  CUET'S  WEDDING  JOUKNEY. 

With  a  bridegroom's  joyous  bearing, 

Mounts  Sir  Curt  his  noble  beast, 
To  his  mistress'  home  repairing. 

There  to  hold  his  wedding  feast ; 
When  a  threatening  foe  advances 

From  a  desert,  rocky  spot ; 
For  the  fray  they  couch  their  lances, 

Not  delaying,  speaking  not. 

Long  the  doubtful  fight  continues. 

Victory  then  for  Curt  declares ; 
Conqueror,  though  with  wearied  sinews, 

Forward  on  his  road  he  fares. 
When  he  sees,  though  strange  it  may  be, 

Something  'midst  the  foliage  move  ; 
'Tis  a  mother  with  her  baby, 

Stealing  softly  through  the  grove ! 

And  upon  the  spot  she  beckons  — 

"  Wherefore,  love,  this  speed  so  wild  ? 
Of  the  wealth  thy  storehouse  reckons. 

Hast  thou  nought  to  give  thy  child  ? " 
Flames  of  rapture  now  dart  through  him, 

And  he  longs  for  nothing  more, 
While  the  mother  seemeth  to  him 

Lovely  as  the  maid  of  yore. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  125 

But  he  hears  his  servants  blowing, 

And  bethinks  him  of  his  bride ; 
And  ere  long,  while  onward  going, 

Chances  past  a  fair  to  ride  ; 
In  the  booths  he  forthwith  buys  him 

For  his  mistress  many  a  pledge ; 
But,  alas !  some  Jews  surprise  him. 

And  long-standing  debts  allege. 

And  the  courts  of  justice  duly 

Send  the  knight  to  prison  straight. 
Oh,  accursed  story,  truly  ! 

For  a  hero,  what  a  fate  ! 
Can  my  patience  such  things  weather  ? 

Great  is  my  perplexity. 
Women,  debts,  and  foes  together,  — 

Ah,  no  knight  escapes  scot  free ! 


WEDDING  SONG. 

The  tale  of  the  Count  our  glad  song  shall  record 

Who  had  in  this  castle  his  dwelling, 
Where  now  are  ye  feasting  the  new-married  lord. 

His  grandson  of  whom  we  are  teUing. 
The  Count  as  Crusader  had  blazoned  his  fame. 
Through  many  a  triumph  exalted  his  name. 
And  when  on  his  steed  to  his  dwelhng  he  came. 
His  castle  still  reared  its  proud  head. 
But  servants  and  wealth  had  all  fled. 


'Tis  true  that  thou,  Count,  hast  returned  to  thy  home, 

But  matters  are  faring  there  ill. 
The  winds  through  the  chambers  at  hberty  roam, 

And  blow  through  the  windows  at  will. 


126  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

What's  best  to  be  done  in  a  cold  autumn  night  ? 
¥u\\  many  I've  passed  in  more  piteous  plight ; 
The  morn  ever  settles  the  matter  aright. 

Then  quick,  while  the  moon  shines  so  clear, 

To  bed  on  straw,  without  fear. 


And  whilst  in  a  soft  pleasing  slumber  he  lay, 

A  motion  he  feels  'neath  his  bed. 
The  rat,  an  he  hkes  it,  may  rattle  away  ! 

Ay,  had  he  but  crumbs  there  outspread ! 
But  lo  !  there  appears  a  diminutive  wight, 
A  dwarf  'tis,  yet  graceful,  and  bearing  a  light, 
With  orator-gestures  that  notice  invite. 

At  the  feet  of  the  Count  on  the  floor 

Who  sleeps  not,  though  weary  full  sore. 

"  We've  long  been  accustomed  to  hold  here  our  feast 

Since  thou  from  thy  castle  first  went ; 
And  as  we  believed  thou  wert  far  in  the  East, 

To  revel  e'en  now  we  were  bent. 
And  if  thou'lt  allow  it,  and  seek  not  to  chide, 
We  dwarfs  will  all  banquet  with  pleasure  and  pride, 
To  honour  the  wealthy,  the  beautiful  bride  "  — 
Says  the  Count  with  a  smile,  half  asleep :  — 
"  Ye're  welcome  your  quarters  to  keep ! " 

Three  knights  then  advance,  riding  all  in  a  group, 

Wlio  under  the  bed  were  concealed ; 
And  then  is  a  singing  and  noise-making  troop 

Of  strange  little  figures  revealed  ; 
And  wagon  on  wagon  with  all  kinds  of  things  — 
The  clatter  they  cause  through  the  ear  loudly  rings  - 
The  like  ne'er  was  seen  save  in  castles  of  kings ; 
At  length,  in  a  chariot  of  gold. 
The  bride  and  the  guest,  too,  behold  ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  127 

Then  all  at  full  gallop  make  haste  to  advance, 

Each  chooses  his  place  in  tlie  hall ; 
With  whirling  and  waltzing,  and  light  joyous  dance, 

They  begin  with  their  sweethearts  the  ball. 
The  fife  and  the  fiddle  all  merrily  sound, 
They  twine,  and  they  glide,  and  with  nimbleness  boimd. 
They  whisper,  and  chatter,  and  clatter  around  ; 

The  Count  on  the  scene  casts  his  eye. 

And  seems  in  a  fever  to  lie. 


They  hustle,  and  bustle,  and  rattle  away 

On  table,  on  bench,  and  on  stool ; 
Then  all  who  had  joined  in  the  festival  gay 

With  their  partners  attempt  to  grow  cool. 
The  hams  and  the  sausages  nimbly  they  bear, 
And  meat,  fish,  and  poultry  in  plenty  are  there, 
Surrounded  with  wine  of  the  vintage  most  rare : 
And  when  they  have  revelled  full  long. 
They  vanish  at  last  with  a  song. 


And  if  we're  to  sing  all  that  further  occurred. 

Pray  cease  ye  to  bluster  and  prate ; 
For  what  he  so  gladly  in  small  saw  and  heard, 

He  enjoyed  and  he  practised  in  great. 
For  trumpets,  and  singing,  and  shouts  without  end 
On  the  bridal-train,  chariots  and  horsemen  attend, 
They  come  and  appear,  and  they  bow  and  they  bend, 

In  merry  and  countless  array, 

Thus  was  it,  thus  is  it  to-day. 


128  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE  FISHEEMAK 

The  water  rushed,  the  water  swelled, 

A  fisherman  sat  by, 
And  gazed  upon  his  dancing  float 

With  tranquil-dreaming  eye. 
And  as  he  sits,  and  as  he  looks, 

The  gurgling  waves  arise  ; 
A  maid,  all  bright  with  water  drops. 

Stands  straight  before  his  eyes. 

She  sang  to  him,  she  spake  to  him : 

"  My  fish  why  dost  thou  snare, 
With  human  wit  and  human  guile. 

Into  the  killing  air  ? 
Couldst  see  how  happy  fishes  live 

Under  the  stream  so  clear, 
Thyself  would  plunge  into  the  stream, 

And  live  for  ever  there. 

'  Bathe  not  the  lovely  sun  and  moon 

Within  the  cool,  deep  sea. 
And  with  wave-breathing  faces  rise 

In  twofold  witchery  ? 
Lure  not  the  misty  heaven-deeps. 

So  beautiful  and  blue  ? 
Lures  not  thine  image,  mirrored  in 

The  fresh  eternal  dew  ? " 

The  water  rushed,  the  water  swelled, 

It  clasped  his  feet,  I  wis ; 
A  thrill  went  through  his  yearning  heart, 

As  when  two  lovers  kiss  ! 
She  spake  to  him,  she  sang  to  him : 

Eesistless  was  her  strain  ; 
Half  drew  him  in,  half  lured  him  in ; 

He  ne'er  was  seen  again. 


128 


'd. 


vv  all  h\t  iiumaii  g 

C,  ....   __.,.,  V  fish. 

IT  ,1  streara 

T  into  the  stream, 

A. 


>ig 


swelled, 
h  lua  yearning  heart. 


CO  h^* 


o 

liu ; 
half  lured  him  in ; 

n. 


■  Half  drew  him  in,  half  lured  him  in  ' 

Photogravure  from  the  painting  by  A.  Ring 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  129 


THE  RAT-CATCHER. 

I  AM  the  bard  known  far  and  wide, 
The  travelled  rat-catcher  beside  ; 
A  man  most  needful  to  this  town, 
So  glorious  through  its  old  renown. 
However  many  rats  I  see, 
How  many  weasels  there  may  be, 
I  cleanse  the  place  from  every  one, 
All  needs  but  helter-skelter  run. 

Sometimes  the  bard  so  full  of  cheer 
As  a  child-catcher  will  appear, 
Who  e'en  the  wildest  captive  brings, 
Whene'er  his  golden  tales  he  sings. 
However  proud  each  boy  in  heart. 
However  much  the  maidens  start, 
I  bid  the  chords  sweet  music  make. 
And  all  must  follow  in  my  wake. 

Sometimes  the  skilful  bard  ye  view 
In  form  of  maiden-catcher,  too ; 
For  he  no  city  enters  e'er, 
Without  effecting  wonders  there. 
However  coy  may  be  each  maid, 
Howe'er  the  women  seem  afraid, 
Yet  all  will  love-sick  be  ere  long 
To  sound  of  magic  lute  and  song. 
[D«  Capo.'] 


130  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE  KING  OF  THULE. 

[This  ballad  is  also  introduced  in  "  Faust,"  where  it  is  sung  by 
Margaret.  ] 

There  was  a  king  in  Thule, 

Was  faithful  till  the  grave, 
To  whom  his  mistress,  dying, 

A  golden  goblet  gave. 

Nought  was  to  him  more  precious ; 

He  drained  it  at  every  bout ; 
His  eyes  with  tears  ran  over, 

As  oft  as  he  drank  thereout. 


When  came  his  time  of  dying. 
The  towns  in  his  land  he  told, 

Nought  else  to  his  heir  denying 
Except  the  goblet  of  gold. 

He  sat  at  the  royal  banquet 

With  his  knights  of  higli  degree. 

In  the  lofty  hall  of  his  father 
In  the  castle  by  the  sea. 

There  stood  the  old  carouser. 
And  drank  the  last  life-glow ; 

And  hurled  the  hallowed  goblet 
Into  the  tide  below. 

He  saw  it  plunging  and  tilhng. 
And  sinking  deep  in  the  sea : 

Then  fell  liis  eyelids  for  ever. 
And  never  more  drank  he  ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  131 

THE  TREASURE -SEEKER 


Many  weary  days  I  suffered, 

Sick  of  heart  and  poor  of  purse ; 
Riches  are  the  gi-eatest  blessing  — 

Poverty  the  deepest  curse ! 
Till  at  last  to  diff  a  treasure 

Forth  I  went  into  the  wood  — 
"  Fiend  !  my  soul  is  thine  for  ever  ! " 

And  I  signed  the  scroll  with  blood. 

II. 

Then  T  drew  the  magic  circles, 

Kindled  the  mysterious  fire, 
Placed  the  herbs  and  bones  in  order, 

Spoke  the  incantation  dire. 
And  I  sought  the  buried  metal 

With  a  spell  of  mickle  might  — 
Sought  it  as  my  master  taught  me ; 

Black  and  stormy  was  the  night. 

III. 

And  T  saw  a  light  appearing 

In  the  distance,  like  a  star ; 
"When  the  midnight  hour  was  tolling, 

Came  it  waxing  from  afar : 
Came  it  flasliing,  swift  and  sudden. 

As  if  fiery  wine  it  were. 
Flowing  from  an  open  chalice, 

Which  a  beauteous  boy  did  bear. 

lY. 

And  he  wore  a  lustrous  chaplet, 
And  his  eyes  were  full  of  thought, 


132  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

As  he  stepped  into  the  circle 

With  the  radiance  that  he  brought. 

And  he  bade  me  taste  the  goblet ; 
And  I  thought  —  "  It  cannot  be, 

That  this  boy  should  be  the  bearer 
Of  the  Demon's  gifts  to  me ! " 


V. 

"  Taste  the  draught  of  pure  existence 

Sparkling  in  this  golden  urn, 
And  no  more  with  baleful  magic 

Shalt  thou  hitherward  return. 
Do  not  seek  for  treasures  longer; 

Let  thy  future  spell-words  be, 
Days  of  labour,  nights  of  resting : 

So  shall  peace  return  to  thee ! " 


THE  SPINNER. 

As  I  calmly  sat  and  span, 

Toiling  with  all  zeal, 
Lo !  a  young  and  handsome  man 

Passed  my  spinning-wheel. 

And  he  praised,  —  what  harm  was  there  ? 

Sweet  the  things  he  said  — 
Praised  my  flax-resembhug  hair, 

And  the  even  thread. 


He  with  this  was  not  content, 
But  must  needs  do  more ; 

And  in  twain  the  thread  was  rent, 
Though  'twas  safe  before. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  133 

And  the  flax's  stouelike  weight 

Needed  to  be  told  ; 
But  uo  longer  was  its  state 

Valued  as  of  old. 


Wlien  I  took  it  to  the  weaver, 
Something  felt  I  start, 

And  more  quickly,  as  with  fever. 
Throbbed  my  trembling  heart. 


Then  I  bear  the  thread  at  length 
Through  the  heat,  to  bleach ; 

But,  alas,  I  scarce  have  strength 
To  the  pool  to  reach. 

What  I  in  my  little  room 
Span  so  fine  and  slight,  — 

As  was  likely,  I  presume  — 
Came  at  last  to  light. 


THE  YOUTH  AND  THE  MILL-STREAM. 

[This  sweet  ballad,  and  the  oue  entitled  "The  Maid  of  the 
Mill's  Repentance,"  were  written  on  the  occasion  of  a  visit  paid  by 
Goethe  to  Switzerland.  "The  Maid  of  the  Mill's  Treachery,"  to 
which  the  latter  forms  the  sequel,  was  not  written  till  the  follow- 
ing year.] 

YOUTH. 

Pretty  brooklet,  gaily  glancing 

In  the  morning  sun, 
"NMiy  so  joyous  in  thy  dancing? 

Whither  dost  thou  run  ? 
What  is't  lures  thee  to  the  vale  ? 
Tell  me,  if  thou  hast  a  tale. 


134  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


BROOK. 


Youth !  I  was  a  brooklet  lately, 

Wandering  at  my  will ; 
Then  I  might  have  moved  sedately, 

Now,  to  yonder  mill, 
Must  I  hurry,  swift  and  strong, 
Therefore  do  I  race  along. 


YOUTH. 

Brooklet,  happy  in  thy  duty, 

Nathless  thou  art  free  ; 
Knowest  not  the  power  of  beauty 

That  enchaineth  me ! 
Looks  the  miller's  comely  daughter 
Ever  kindly  on  thy  water  ? 


BROOK. 

Early  comes  she  every  morning, 
From  some  bhssful  dream  ; 

And,  so  sweet  in  her  adorning, 
Bends  above  my  stream. 

Then  her  bosom,  white  as  snow, 

Makes  my  chilly  waters  glow. 


YOUTH. 

If  her  beauty  brings  such  gladness. 

Brooklet,  unto  thee, 
Marvel  not  if  I  to  madness 

Should  enflamed  be. 
Oh,  that  I  could  hope  to  move  her ! 
Once  to  see  her  is  to  love  her. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  135 

BROOK. 

Then  careering  —  ah,  so  proudly  ! 

Rush  I  o'er  the  wheel, 
And  the  merry  mill  speaks  loudly 

AW  the  joy  1  feel. 
Show  me  but  the  miller's  daughter, 
And  more  swiftly  flows  my  water. 


YOUTH. 

Nay,  but,  brooklet,  tell  me  truly, 

Feelest  thou  no  pain, 
When  she  smiles,  and  bids  thee  duly 

Go,  nor  turn  again  ? 
Hath  that  simple  smile  no  cunning, 
Brook,  to  stay  thee  in  thy  running  ? 


BROOK. 

Hard  it  is  to  lose  her  shadow, 

Hard  to  pass  away  ; 
Slowly,  sadly,  down  the  meadow. 

Uninspired  I  stray. 
Oh,  if  I  might  have  my  will. 
Back  to  her  I'd  hasten  still ! 


YOUTH. 

Brook !  my  love  thou  comprehendest ; 

Fare  thee  well  awhile ; 
One  day,  when  thou  hither  wendest, 

May'st  thou  see  me  smile. 
Go,  and  in  thy  gentlest  fashion, 
Tell  that  maiden  all  my  passion  ! 


136  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE  MAID  OF  THE  MILL'S  TREACHERY. 

[This  ballad  is  introduced  in  the   "  Wander jahre,"   in  a  tale 
called  "The  Foolish  Pilgrim."] 

Whence  comes  our  friend  so  hastily, 

When  scarce  the  eastern  sky  is  gray  ? 
Hath  he  just  ceased,  though  cold  it  be, 

In  yonder  holy  spot  to  pray  ? 
The  brook  appears  to  hem  his  path. 

Would  he  barefooted  o'er  it  go  ? 
Why  curse  his  orisons  in  wrath, 

Across  those  heights  beclad  with  snow  ? 

Alas !  his  warm  bed  he  hath  left, 

Where  he  had  looked  for  bliss,  I  ween ; 
And  if  his  cloak,  too,  had  been  reft. 

How  fearful  his  disgrace  had  been ! 
By  yonder  villain  sorely  pressed. 

His  wallet  from  him  had  been  torn ; 
Our  hapless  friend  has  been  undressed,  — 

Left  well-nigh  naked  as  when  born. 

The  reason  why  he  came  this  road. 

Is  that  he  sought  a  pair  of  eyes. 
Which,  at  the  mill,  as  brightly  glowed 

As  those  that  are  in  Paradise. 
He  will  not  soon  again  be  there. 

From  out  the  house  he  quickly  hied, 
And  when  he  gained  the  open  air. 

Thus  bitterly  and  loudly  cried : 

"  Within  her  gaze,  so  dazzhng  bright. 
No  word  of  teachery  I  could  read ; 
She  seemed  to  see  me  with  delight, 
Yet  planned  e'en  then  this  cruel  deed. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  137 

Could  I,  when  basking  in  her  smile, 
Dream  of  the  treason  in  her  breast  ? 

She  bade  kind  Cupid  stay  awhile, 
And  he  was  there  to  make  us  blest. 

"  To  taste  of  love's  sweet  ecstasy 

Throughout  the  night  that  endless  seemed, 
And  for  her  mother's  help  to  cry 

Only  w^hen  morning  sunlight  beamed  ! 
A  dozen  of  her  kith  and  kin, 

A  very  human  flood,  in-pressed, 
Her  cousins  came,  her  aunts  peered  in, 

And  uncles,  brothers,  and  the  rest. 

"  Then  what  a  tumult,  fierce  and  loud ! 

Each  seemed  a  beast  of  prey  to  be ; 
The  maiden's  honour  all  the  crowd, 

With  fearful  shout,  demand  of  me. 
Why  should  they,  madmen-Uke,  begin 

To  fall  upon  a  guiltless  youth  ? 
For  he  who  such  a  prize  would  win, 

Far  nimbler  needs  must  be,  in  truth. 

"  The  way  to  follow  up  with  skill 

His  freaks,  by  Love  betimes  is  known 
He  ne'er  will  leave,  within  a  mill. 

Sweet  flowers  for  sixteen  years  alone.  — 
They  stole  my  clothes  away,  —  yes,  all ! 

And  tried  my  cloak  beside  to  steal. 
How  strange  that  any  house  so  small 

So  many  rascals  could  conceal ! 

"  Then  I  sprang  up,  and  raved,  and  swore. 
To  force  a  passage  through  them  there. 
I  saw  the  treacherous  maid  once  more. 
And  she  was  still,  alas,  so  fair ! 


138  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

They  all  gave  way  before  my  wrath, 
Wild  outcries  flew  about  pell-mell ; 

At  length  I  managed  to  rush  forth. 
With  voice  of  thunder,  from  that  hell. 


"  As  maidens  of  the  town  we  fly, 

We'll  shun  you  maidens  of  the  village  ! 
Leave  it  to  those  of  quality, 

Their  humble  worshippers  to  pillage  ! 
Yet  if  ye  are  of  practised  skill, 

And  of  all  tender  ties  afraid, 
Exchange  your  lovers,  if  ye  will, 

But  never  let  them  be  betrayed." 

Thus  sings  he  in  the  winter  night, 

While  not  a  blade  of  grass  was  green. 
I  laughed  to  see  his  piteous  plight, 

For  it  was  well  deserved,  I  ween. 
And  may  this  be  the  fate  of  all, 

Who  treat  by  day  their  true  loves  ill, 
And,  with  foolhardy  daring,  crawl 

By  night  to  Cupid's  treacherous  mill ! 


THE  MAID  OF  THE  MILL'S  EEPENTANCE. 

YOUTH. 

Away,  thou  swarthy  witch  !     Go  forth 

From  out  my  house,  I  tell  thee ! 
Or  else  I  needs  must,  in  my  wrath, 

Expel  thee ! 
What's  this  thou  singest  so  falsely,  forsooth, 
Of  love  and  a  maiden's  silent  truth  ? 

Who'll  trust  to  such  a  story ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  i39 


GYPSY. 


I  sing  of  a  maid's  repented  fears, 

And  long  and  bitter  yearning  ; 
Her  levity  changed  to  truth  and  tears 

All-burning. 
She  dreads  no  more  the  threats  of  her  mother, 
She  dreads  far  less  the  blows  of  her  brother, 

Than  the  dearly-loved  one's  hatred. 

YOUTH. 

Of  selfishness  sing,  and  treacherous  hes. 
Of  murder  and  thievish  plunder  ! 

Such  actions  false  will  cause  no  surprise, 
Or  wonder. 

When    they     share     their    booty,    both    clothes 
and  purse, — 

As  bad  as  you  gypsies,  and  even  worse. 
Such  tales  find  ready  credence. 

GYPSY. 

"  Alas,  alas  !  oh,  what  have  I  done  ? 

Can  hstening  aught  avail  me  ? 
I  hear  him  toward  my  room  hasten  on, 

To  hail  me. 
My  heart  beat  high,  to  myself  I  said : 
'  0  would  that  thou  hadst  never  betrayed 

That  night  of  love  to  thy  mother  ! ' " 

YOUTH. 

Alas !  I  foolishly  ventured  there, 

For  the  cheating  silence  misled  me, 

Ah,  sweetest !  let  me  to  thee  repair,  — 
Nor  dread  me ! 

When  suddenly  rose  a  fearful  din. 

Her  mad  relations  came  pouring  in. 
My  blood  still  boils  in  my  body ! 


I40  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

GYPSY. 

"  Oh  when  will  return  an  hour  like  this  ? 

I  pine  in  silent  sadness ; 
I've  thrown  away  my  only  true  bliss 

With  madness. 
Alas,  poor  maid  !  Oh  pity  my  youth  ! 
My  brother  was  then  full  cruel  in  truth 

To  treat  the  loved  one  so  basely ! " 

THE    POET. 

The  swarthy  woman  then  went  inside, 

To  the  spring  in  the  courtyard  yonder ; 

Her  eyes  from  their  stain  she  purified. 
And,  —  wonder !  — 

Her  face  and  eyes  were  radiant  and  bright, 

And  the  maid  of  the  mill  was  disclosed  to  the  sight 
Of  the  startled  and  angry  stripling. 

THE    MAID    OF    THE    MILL. 

Thou  sweetest,  fairest,  dearly-loved  life ! 

Before  thine  anger  I  cower ; 
But  blows  I  dread  not,  nor  sharp-edged  knife,  — 

This  hour 
Of  sorrow  and  love  to  thee  I'll  sing, 
And  myself  before  thy  feet  I'll  fling, 

And  either  live  or  die  there ! 

YOUTH. 

Affection,  say,  why  buried  so  deep 

In  my  heart  hast  thou  lain  hidden  ? 

By  whom  hast  thou  now  to  awake  from  thy  sleep 
Been  bidden  ? 

Ah,  love,  that  thou  art  immortal  I  see ! 

Nor  knavish  cunning  nor  treachery 
Can  destroy  thy  life  so  godlike. 


POEMS   OF  GOETHE  141 

THE    MAID    OF    THE    MILL. 

If  still,  with  as  fond  and  heartfelt  love, 

As  thou  once  didst  swear,  I'm  cherished. 

Then  nought  of  the  rapture  we  used  to  prove 
Is  perished. 

So  take  the  woman  so  dear  to  thy  breast ! 

In  her  young  and  innocent  charms  be  blest, 
For  all  are  thine  from  henceforward ! 

BOTH. 

Now,  sun,  sink  to  rest !     Now,  moon,  arise  ! 

Ye  stars,  be  now  shining,  now  darkling ! 
A  star  of  love  now  gleams  in  the  skies. 

All  sparkling ! 
As  long  as  the  fountain  may  spring  and  run, 
So  long  will  we  two  be  blended  in  one, 

Upon  each  other's  bosoms ! 


THE  WALKING  BELL. 

A  CHILD  refused  to  go  betimes 

To  church  like  other  people ; 
He  roamed  abroad,  when  rang  the  chimes 

On  Sundays  from  the  steeple. 

His  mother  said  :  "  Loud  rings  the  bell, 
Its  voice  ne'er  think  of  scorning ; 

Unless  thou  wilt  behave  thee  well, 
'Twill  fetch  thee  without  warning." 

The  child  then  thought :  "  High  over  head 
The  bell  is  safe  suspended  —  " 

So  to  the  fields  he  straightway  sped 
As  if  'twas  school-time  ended. 


142  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

The  bell  now  ceased  as  bell  to  ring, 
Housed  by  the  mother's  twaddle  ; 

But  soon  ensued  a  dreadful  thing !  — 
The  bell  begins  to  waddle. 


It  waddles  fast,  though  strange  it  seem ; 

The  child,  with  trembling  wonder, 
Runs  off,  and  flies,  as  in  a  dream ; 

The  bell  would  draw  him  under. 


He  finds  the  proper  time  at  last, 
And  straightway  nimbly  rushes 

To  church,  to  chapel,  hastening  fast 
Through  pastures,  plains,  and  bushes. 


Each  Sunday  and  each  feast  as  well, 
His  late  disaster  heeds  he ; 

The  moment  that  he  hears  the  bell, 
No  other  summons  needs  he. 


Poets'  art  is  ever  able 

To  endow  with  truth  mere  fable. 


THE  TRAVELLER  AND  THE  FARM  MAIDEN. 


HE. 


Canst  thou  give,  O  fair  and  matchless  maiden, 
'Neath  the  shadow  of  the  lindens  yonder, — 
Where  I'd  fain  one  moment  cease  to  wander,  — 

Food  and  drink  to  one  so  heavy  laden  ? 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  143 


SHE. 


Wouldst  thou  find  refreshment,  traveller  weary, 
Bread,  ripe  fruit,  and  cream,  to  meet  thy  wishes,  • 
None  but  Nature's  plain  and  homely  dishes,  — ■ 

Near  the  spring  may  soothe  thy  wanderings  dreary. 


HE. 


Dreams  of  old  acquaintance  now  pass  through  me, 
Ne'er-forgotten  queen  of  hours  of  blisses : 
Likenesses  I've  often  found,  but  this  is 

One  that  quite  a  marvel  seemeth  to  me ! 

SHE. 

Travellers  often  wonder  beyond  measure. 

But  their  wonder  soon  see  cause  to  smother ; 
Fair  and  dark  are  often  like  each  other, 

Both  inspire  the  mind  with  equal  pleasure. 

HE. 

Not  now  for  the  first  time  I  surrender 

To  this  form,  in  humble  adoration ; 

It  was  brightest  midst  the  constellation 
In  the  hall  adorned  with  festal  splendour. 

SHE. 

Be  thou  joyful  that  'tis  in  my  power 

To  complete  thy  strange  and  merry  story ! 
Silks  behind  her,  full  of  purple  glory. 

Floated,  when  thou  sawest  her  in  that  hour. 

HE. 

No,  in  truth,  thou  hast  not  sung  it  rightly ! 

Spirits  may  have  told  thee  all  about  it ; 

Pearls  and  gems  they  spoke  of,  do  not  doubt  it, - 
By  her  gaze  eclipsed,  —  it  gleamed  so  brightly  ! 


144  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


SHE. 


This  one  thing  I  certainly  collected : 

That  the  fair  one  —  (say  nought,  I  entreat  thee !) 
Fondly  hoping  once  again  to  meet  thee, 

Many  a  castle  in  the  air  erected. 


HE. 


By  each  wind  I  ceaselessly  was  driven, 
Seeking  gold  and  honour,  too,  to  capture. 
When  my  wand'rings  end,  then  oh,  what  rapture, 

If  to  find  that  form  again  'tis  given ! 


SHE. 


'Tis  the  daughter  of  the  race  now  banished 
That  thou  seest,  not  her  likeness  only, 
Helen  and  her  brother,  glad  though  lonely, 

Till  this  farm  of  their  estate  now  vanished. 

HE, 

But  the  owner  surely  is  not  wanting 

Of  these  plains,  with  ev'ry  beauty  teeming  ? 
Verdant  fields,  broad  meads,  and  pastures  gleaming, 

Gushing  springs,  all  heavenly  and  enchanting. 

SHE. 

Thou  must  hunt  the  world  through,  wouldst  thou  find 
him  !  — 
We  have  wealth  enough  in  our  possession. 
And  intend  to  purchase  the  succession. 

When  the  good  man  leaves  the  world  behind  him. 

HE. 

I  have  learnt  the  owner's  own  condition, 
And,  fair  maiden,  thou  indeed  canst  buy  it ; 
But  the  cost  is  great,  I  won't  deny  it,  — 

Helen  is  the  price,  —  with  thy  permission  ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  145 


SHE. 


Did  then  fate  and  rank  keep  us  asunder, 

And  must  Love  take  this  road,  and  no  other  ? 
Yonder  comes  my  dear  and  trusty  brother ! 

Wliat  will  he  say  to  it  all,  I  wonder  ? 


Turn  to  good  account  thy  day ; 

Wilt  aught  lay  hold  on  ?  Go  not  far  away. 


THE  PAGE  AND  THE  MILLER'S  DAUGHTER 

PAGE. 

Where  goest  thou  ?     Where  ? 
Miller's  daughter  so  fair  ! 
Thy  name,  pray  ?  — 

miller's  daughter. 
'Tis  Lizzy. 

PAGE. 

Where  goest  thou  ?     Where  ? 
With  the  rake  in  thy  hand  ? 

miller's    DAUGHTER. 

Father's  meadows  and  land 
To  visit,  I'm  busy. 

PAGE. 

Dost  go  there  alone  ? 


146  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

miller's  daughter. 

By  this  rake,  sir,  'tis  shown 

That  we're  making  the  hay ; 
And  the  pears  ripen  fast 
In  the  garden  at  last, 

So  I'll  pick  them  to-day. 

PAGE. 

Is't  a  silent  thicket  I  yonder  view  ? 

miller's  daughter. 

Oh,  yes  !  there  are  two ; 
There's  one  on  each  side. 

PAGE. 

I'll  follow  thee  soon  ; 

When  the  sun  burns  at  noon. 

We'll  go  there,  ourselves  from  his  rays  to  hide, 
And  then  in  some  glade  all-verdant  and  deep  — 

miller's  daughter. 
Why,  people  would  say  — 

page. 
Within  mine  arms  thou  gently  wilt  sleep. 

miller's  daughter. 

Your  pardon,  I  pray  ! 
Whoever  is  kissed  by  the  miller-maid, 
Upon  the  spot  must  needs  be  betrayed. 

'Twould  give  me  distress 
To  cover  with  white 

Your  pretty  dark  dress. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  147 


Equal  with  equal !  then  all  is  right ! 
That's  the  motto  in  which  I  delight. 
I  am  in  love  with  the  miller-boy  ; 
He  wears  nothing  that  I  could  destroy. 


FAITHFUL  ECKAET. 

"  Oh,   would  we  were    further !    Oh,   would   we  were 

home, 
The  phantoms  of  night  tow'rd  us  hastily  come. 

The  band  of  the  Sorceress  sisters. 
They  hitherward  speed,  and  on  finding  us  here. 
They'll  drink,  though  with  toil  we  have  fetched  it,  the 
beer, 
And  leave  us  the  pitchers  all  empty." 

Thus  speaking,  the  children  with  fear  take  to  flight, 
When  sudden  an  old  man  appears  in  their  sight ; 
"  Be  quiet,  child  !  cliildren,  be  quiet ! 
From  hunting  they  come,  and  their  thirst  they  would 

still, 
So  leave  them  to  swallow  as  much  as  they  will. 
And  the  Evil  Ones  then  will  be  gracious." 

As  said,  so  'twas  done !  and  the  phantoms  draw  near, 
And  shadowlike  seem  they,  and  gray  they  appear. 

Yet  bhthely  they  sip  and  they  revel : 
The  beer  has  all  vanished,  the  pitchers  are  void ; 
With  cries  and  with  shouts  the  wild  hunters,  o'erjoyed, 

Speed  onward  o'er  vale  and  o'er  mountain. 

The  children  in  terror  fly  nimbly  toward  home, 
And  with  them  the  kind  one  is  careful  to  come : 
"  My  darlings,  oh,  be  not  so  mournful !  "  — 


148  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

"  They'll  blame  us  and  beat  us  until  we  are  dead."  — 
"  ISTo,  no !  ye  will  find  that  all  goes  well,"  he  said ; 
"  Be  silent  as  mice,  then,  and  listen ! 

"  And  he  by  whose  counsels  thus  wisely  ye're  taught, 
Is  he  who  with  children  loves  ever  to  sport, 

The  trusty  and  faithful  old  Eckart. 
Ye  have  heard  of  the  wonder  for  many  a  day, 
But  ne'er  had  a  proof  of  the  marvellous  lay,  — 

Your  hands  hold  a  proof  most  convincing." 

They  arrive  at   their  home,  and   their  pitchers  they 

place 
By  the  side  of  their  parents,  with  fear  on  their  face. 

Awaiting  a  beating  and  scolding. 
But  see  what  they're  tasting :  the  choicest  of  beer  ! 
Though   three  times   and   four   times   they   quaif  the 
good  cheer, 
The  pitchers  remain  still  unemptied. 

The  marvel  it  lasts  till  the  dawniug  of  day ; 
All  people  who  hear  of  it  doubtless  will  say  : 

"  What  happened  at  length  to  the  pitchers  ?  " 
In  secret  the  children  they  smile,  as  they  wait ; 
At  last,  though,  they  stammer,  and  stutter,  and  prate, 

And  straightway  the  pitchers  were  empty. 

And  if,  children,  with  kindness  addressed  ye  may  be. 
Whether  father,  or  master,  or  alderman  he. 

Obey  him,  and  follow  his  bidding  ! 
And  if  'tis  unpleasant  to  bridle  the  tongue. 
Yet  talking  is  bad,  silence  good  for  the  young  — 

And  then  will  the  beer  fill  your  pitchers ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  149 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  DEAD. 

The  warder  he  gazes  at  dead  0'  the  night 

On  the  graveyards  under  him  lying, 
The  moon  into  clearness  throws  all  by  her  light, 

The  night  with  the  daylight  is  vying. 
There's  a  stir  in  the  graves,  and  forth  from  their  tombs 
The  form  of  a  man,  then  a  woman  next  looms 

In  garments  long  trailing  and  snowy. 

They  stretch  themselves  out,  and  with  eager  delight 
Join  the  bones  for  the  revel  and  dancing,  — 

Young  and  old,  rich  and  poor,  the  lady  and  knight, 
Their  trains  are  a  hinderance  to  dancing. 

And  since  here  by  shame  they  no  longer  are  bound, 

They  shuffle  them  off,  and  lo,  strewn  lie  around 
Their  garments  on  each  little  hillock. 

Here  rises  a  shank,  and  a  leg  wobbles  there 

With  lewd  diabolical  gesture  ; 
And  clatter  and  rattle  of  bones  you  might  hear. 

As  of  one  beating  sticks  to  a  measure. 
This  seems  to  the  warder  a  laughable  game : 
Then  the  tempter,  low  whispering,  up  to  him  came : 

"  In  one  of  their  shrouds  go  and  wrap  thee." 

'Twas  done  soon  as  said ;  then  he  gained  in  wild  flight 
Concealment  behind  the  church  portal. 

The  moon  all  the  while  throws  her  bright  beams  of 
light 
On  the  dance  where  they  revel  and  sport  all. 

First  one,  then  another,  dispersed  all  are  they, 

And  donning  their  shrouds  steal  the  spectres  away. 
And  under  the  graves  all  is  quiet. 


ISO  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

But  one  of  them  stumbles  and  fumbles  along, 
'Midst  the  tombstones  groping  intently  ; 

But  none  of  his  comrades  have  done  him  this  wrong, 
His  shroud  in  the  breeze  'gins  to  scent  he. 

He  rattles  the  door  of  the  tower,  but  can  find 

No  entrance,  —  good  luck  to  the  warder  behind  !  — 
'Tis  barred  with  blest  crosses  of  metal. 


His  shroud  he  must  have,  or  rest  can  he  ne'er ; 

And  so,  withovit  further  preambles. 
The  old  Gothic  carving  he  grips  then  and  there. 

From  turret  to  pinnacle  scrambles. 
Alas  for  the  warder !  all's  over,  I  fear ; 
From  buttress  to  buttress  in  dev'lish  career 

He  climbs  like  a  long-legged  spider. 

The  warder  he  trembles,  and  pale  doth  he  look. 
That  shroud  he  would  gladly  be  giving. 

When  piercing  transfixed  it  a  sharp-pointed  hook ! 
He  thought  his  last  hour  he  was  living. 

Clouds  cover  already  the  vanishing  moon, 

With  thunderous  clang  beats  the  clock  a  loud  One 
Below  lies  the  skeleton,  shattered. 


EFFECT   AT    A   DISTANCE. 

The  Queen  she  stands  in  her  castle's  proud  hall, 
Where  all  brightly  the  tapers  flame ; 
"  Now  hie  thee,  sir  page  "  (he  came  at  her  call), 
"  And  fetch  me  my  purse  for  the  game ; 
It  lies  close  at  hand 
On  a  marble  stand." 
To  the  palace  end  quickly  away 
Sped  the  page  without  further  delay. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  151 

By  chance,  near  the  Queen  her  sherbet  did  sip 

A  lady,  the  fairest  of  all ; 
In  shivers  the  cup  fell  dashed  from  her  lip, — 
Ah  me,  what  a  terrible  fall ! 
Such  carelessness !  drest 
In  her  gala  vest ! 
Sped  the  lady  without  more  delay 
To  the  palace  end  quickly  away. 

The  page  as  back  on  his  errand  he  flew. 

In  trouble  the  fair  lady  met ; 
Both  page  and  lady,  though  none  of  them  knew, 
Their  hearts  on  each  other  had  set. 
0  joy  and  delight ! 
O  fortunate  plight ! 
How  they  fell  upon  each  other's  breast ! 
How  they  kissed  and  embraced  and  caressed ; 

Now  severed  at  last  and  parted  are  they  ! 

To  her  room  the  fair  lady  ran, 
Back  to  the  Queen  sped  the  page  on  his  way, 
Past  many  a  dagger  and  fan. 
His  vest  by  the  Queen 
All  spotted  was  seen  ; 
From  her  eyes  there  was  nothing  to  hide. 
With  the  famed  Queen  of  Sheba  she  vied. 

The  palace  duenna  she  called  aside : 
"  You  said  in  our  late  wordy  war,  — 
And  arguments  stout  and  stiff  you  applied,  — 
That  spirit  acts  not  from  afar ; 
In  presence  alone 
Its  traces  are  shown, 
But  nothing  can  work  from  afar,  — 
No,  not  even  a  heavenly  star. 


152  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

"  Now  look  !     But  just  now  where  standing  we  are, 
Was  scattered  a  sweet  beverage, 
And  at  the  same  instant,  though  distant  and  far, 
It  spotted  the  vest  of  the  page.  — 
Go,  get  newly  clad, 
My  heart  is  made  glad ; 
My  argument  thus  for  upholding 
I'll  pay,  and  so  save  you  a  scolding." 


THE    BRIDE    OF    CORINTH. 

[First  published  in  Schiller's  Horen,  in  connection  with  a 
friendly  contest  in  the  art  of  ballad-writing  between  the  two 
great  poets,  to  which  many  of  their  finest  works  are  owing.] 


A  YOUTH  to  Corinth,  whilst  the  city  slumbered, 
Came  from  Athens  :  though  a  stranger  there, 
Soon  among  its  townsmen  to  be  numbered, 
For  a  bride  awaits  him,  young  and  fair. 
From  their  childhood's  years 
They  were  plighted  feres, 
So  contracted  by  their  parents'  care. 

II. 

But  may  not  his  welcome  there  he  hindered  ? 

Dearly  must  he  buy  it,  would  he  speed. 
He  is  still  a  heathen  with  his  kindred. 

She  and  hers  washed  in  the  Christian  creed. 
When  new  faiths  are  born. 
Love  and  troth  are  torn 
Rudely  from  the  heart,  howe'er  it  bleed, 

III. 

AH  the  house  is  hushed ;  —  to  rest  retreated 
Father,  daughters  —  not  the  mother  quite ; 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  153 

She  the  guest  with  cordial  welcome  greeted, 
Led  him  to  a  room  with  tapers  bright ; 

Wine  and  food  she  brought, 

Ere  of  them  he  thought, 
Then  departed  with  a  fair  good-night. 

IV. 

But  he  felt  no  hunger,  and  unheeded 

Left  the  wiue,  and  eager  for  the  rest 
Which  his  limbs,  forspent  with  travel,  needed, 
On  the  couch  he  laid  him,  still  undressed. 
There  he  sleeps  —  when  lo  ! 
Onwards  gliding  slow. 
At  the  door  appears  a  wondrous  guest. 


By  the  waning  lamp's  uncertain  gleaming 
There  he  sees  a  youthful  maiden  stand, 
Eobed  in  white,  of  still  and  gentle  seeming, 
On  her  brow  a  black  and  golden  band. 
When  she  meets  his  eyes, 
With  a  quick  surprise 
Starting,  she  uphfts  a  pallid  hand. 

VI. 

"  Is  a  stranger  here,  and  nothing  told  me  ? 
Am  I  then  forgotten  even  in  name  ? 
Ah !  'tis  thus  within  my  cell  they  hold  me, 
And  I  now  am  covered  o'er  with  shame ! 
Pillow  still  thy  head 
There  upon  thy  bed, 
I  will  leave  thee  quickly  as  I  came." 

VII. 

"  Maiden  —  darling  !     Stay,  0  stay  ! "  and,  leaping 
From  the  couch  before  her  stands  the  boy : 


154  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

"  Ceres  —  Bacchus,  here  their  gifts  are  heaping, 
And  thou  bringest  Amor's  gentle  joy  ! 
Why  with  terror  pale  ? 
Sweet  one,  let  us  hail 
These  bright  gods  their  festive  gifts  employ." 

VIII. 

"  Oh,  no  —  no  !    Young  stranger,  come  not  nigh  me ; 
Joy  is  not  for  me,  nor  festive  cheer. 
Ah !  such  bliss  may  ne'er  be  tasted  by  me, 
Since  my  mother,  in  fantastic  fear. 
By  long  sickness  bowed, 
To  heaven's  service  vowed 
Me,  and  all  the  hopes  that  warmed  me  here. 

IX. 

"  They  have  left  our  hearth,  and  left  it  lonely,  — 
The  old  gods,  that  bright  and  jocund  train. 
One,  unseen,  in  heaven,  is  worshipped  only, 
And  upon  the  cross  a  Saviour  slain  ; 
Sacrifice  is  here, 
Not  of  lamb  nor  steer. 
But  of  human  woe  and  human  pain." 


And  he  asks,  and  all  her  words  doth  ponder,  — 
"  Can  it  l)e  that  in  this  silent  spot, 
I  behold  thee,  thou  surpassmg  wonder ! 

My  sweet  bride,  so  strangely  to  me  brought  ? 
Be  mine  only  now  — 
See,  our  parents*  vow 
Heaven's  good  blessing  hath  for  us  besought." 

XI. 

"  No !  thou  gentle  heart,"  she  cried  in  anguish  ; 
"  'Tis  not  mine,  but  'tis  my  sister's  place ; 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  155 

When  in  lonely  cell  I  weep  and  languish, 
Think,  oh,  think  of  me  in  her  embrace  ! 
I  think  but  of  thee  — 
Pining  drearily. 
Soon  beneath  the  earth  to  hide  my  face  ! " 

XII. 

•  Nay  !  I  swear  by  yonder  flame  which  burneth, 

Fanned  by  Hymen,  lost  thou  shalt  not  be ; 
Droop  not  thus,  for  my  sweet  bride  returneth 
To  my  father's  mansion  back  with  me ! 
Dearest,  tarry  here ! 
Taste  the  bridal  cheer, 
For  our  spousal  spread  so  woudrously ! " 

XIII. 

Then  with  word  and  sigh  their  troth  they  plighted, 

Golden  was  the  chain  she  bade  him  wear. 
But  the  cup  he  offered  her  she  sHghted, 

Silver,  wrought  with  cunning  past  compare. 
"  That  is  not  for  me ; 
All  I  ask  of  thee 
Is  one  little  ringlet  of  thy  hair  ! " 

XIV. 

Dully  boomed  the  midnight  hour  unhallowed. 

And  then  first  her  eyes  began  to  shine ; 
Eagerly  with  pallid  hps  she  swallowed 
Hasty  draughts  of  purple-tinctured  wine ; 
But  the  wheateu  bread, 
As  in  shuddering  dread, 
Put  she  always  by  with  loathing  sign. 

XV. 

And  she  gave  the  youth  the  cup:  he  drained  it, 
With  impetuous  haste  he  drained  it  dry ; 


IS6  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Love  was  in  his  fevered  heart,  and  pained  it, 
Till  it  ached  for  joy  she  must  deny. 

But  the  maiden's  fears 

Stayed  him,  till  in  tears 
On  the  bed  he  sank,  with  sobbing  cry. 

XVI. 

And  she  leans  above  him  —  "  Dear  one,  still  thee ! 

Ah,  how  sad  am  I  to  see  thee  so  ! 
But,  alas  !  these  limbs  of  mine  would  chill  thee : 
Love  !  they  mantle  not  with  passion's  glow  ; 
Thou  wouldst  be  afraid. 
Didst  thou  find  the  maid 
Thou  hast  chosen,  cold  as  ice  or  snow." 

XVII. 

Eound  her  waist  his  eager  arms  he  bended, 

With  the  strength  that  youth  and  love  inspire ; 
"  Wert  thou  even  from  the  grave  ascended, 
I  could  warm  thee  well  with  my  desire ! " 
Panting  kiss  on  kiss  ! 
Overflow  of  bliss ! 
"  Burn'st  thou  not,  and  feelest  me  on  fire  ? " 

XVIII. 

Closer  yet  they  cHng,  and  intermingling, 

Tears  and  broken  sobs  proclaim  the  rest ; 
His  hot  breath  through  all  her  frame  is  tingling. 
There  they  lie,  caressing  and  caressed. 
His  impassioned  mood 
Warms  her  torpid  blood. 
Yet  there  beats  no  heart  within  her  breast; ! 

XIX. 

Meanwhile  goes  the  mother,  softly  creeping 
Through  the  house,  on  needful  cares  intent, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  157 

Hears  a  murmur,  and,  while  all  are  sleeping, 
Wonders  at  the  sounds,  and  what  they  meant. 

Who  was  whispering  so  ?  — 

Voices  soft  and  low, 
In  mysterious  converse  strangely  blent. 

XX. 

Straightway  by  the  door  herself  she  stations, 

There  to  be  assured  what  was  amiss ; 
And  she  hears  love's  fiery  protestations. 
Words  of  ardour  and  endearing  bliss  : 
"  Hark,  the  cock  !     'Tis  light ! 
But  to-morrow  night 
Thou  wilt  come  again  ? "  and  kiss  on  kiss. 

XXI. 

Quick  the  latch  she  raises,  and,  with  features 
Anger-flushed,  into  the  chamber  hies. 
"  Are  there  in  my  house  such  shameless  creatures, 
Minions  to  the  stranger's  will  ? "  she  cries. 
By  the  dying  light, 
Who  is't  meets  her  sight  ? 
God  !  'tis  her  own  daughter  she  espies ! 

XXII. 

And  the  youth  in  terror  sought  to  cover. 

With  her  own  light  veil,  the"  maiden's  head, 
Clasped  her  close  ;  but,  gliding  from  her  lover. 
Back  the  vestment  from  her  brow  she  spread, 
And  her  form  upright, 
As  with  ghostly  might. 
Long  and  slowly  rises  from  the  bed. , 

XXIII. 

"  Mother  !  mother  !  wherefore  thus  deprive  me 
Of  such  joy  as  I  this  night  have  known  ? 


158  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Wherefore  from  these  warm  embraces  drive  me  ? 
Was  I  wakened  up  to  meet  thy  frown  ? 
Did  it  not  suffice 
That  in  virgin  guise, 
To  an  early  grave  you  forced  me  down  ? 

XXIV. 

"  Fearful  is  the  weird  that  forced  me  hither, 

From  the  dark-heaped  chamber  where  I  lay ; 
Powerless  are  your  drowsy  anthems,  neither 
Can  your  priests  prevail,  howe'er  they  pray. 
Salt  nor  lymph  can  cool. 
Where  the  pulse  is  full ; 
Love  must  still  burn  on,  though  wrapped  in  clay. 

XXV. 

"  To  this  youth  my  early  troth  was  plighted, 
Whilst  yet  Venus  ruled  within  the  land ; 
Mother !  and  that  vow  ye  falsely  slighted, 
At  your  new  and  gloomy  faith's  command. 
But  no  god  will  hear, 
If  a  mother  swear 
Pure  from  love  to  keep  her  daughter's  hand. 

XXVI. 

"  Nightly  from  my  narrow  chamber  driven, 
Come  I  to  fulfiPmy  destined  part. 
Him  to  seek  to  whom  my  troth  was  given. 
And  to  draw  the  hfe-blood  from  his  heart. 
He  hath  served  my  will ; 
More  I  yet  must  kill. 
For  another  prey  I  now  depart. 

xxvii. 

"  Fair  young  man !  thy  thread  of  hfe  is  broken, 
Human  skill  can  bring  no  aid  to  thee. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  159 

There  thou  hast  my  chain  —  a  ghastly  token  — 
And  this  lock  of  thine  I  take  with  me. 

Soon  must  thou  decay, 

Soon  thou  wilt  be  gray, 
Dark  although  to-night  thy  tresses  be ! 

XXVIII. 

"  Motlier  !  hear,  oh,  hear  my  last  entreaty  ! 
Let  the  funeral-pile  arise  once  more ; 
Open  up  my  wretched  tomb  for  pity. 

And  in  flames  our  souls  to  peace  restore. 
When  the  ashes  glow, 
When  the  fire-sparks  flow, 
To  the  ancient  gods  aloft  we  soar." 


THE   PUPIL   IN   MAGIC. 

I  AM  now,  —  what  joy  to  hear  it !  — 

Of  the  old  magician  rid ; 
And  henceforth  shall  every  spirit 
Do  whate'er  by  me  is  bid  ; 

I  have  watched  with  rigour 

AU  he  used  to  do. 
And  will  now  with  vigour 
Work  ray  wonders  too. 

Wander,  wander 
Onward  lightly, 
So  that  rightly 
Flow  the  torrent, 
And  with  teeming  waters  yonder 

In  the  bath  discharge  its  current ! 

And  now  come,  thou  well-worn  broom, 
And  thy  wretched  form  bestir ; 


i6o  POEMS   OF  GOETHE 

Thou  hast  ever  served  as  groom, 
So  fulfil  my  pleasure,  sir ! 
On  two  legs  now  stand, 
With  a  head  on  top ; 
Waterpail  in  hand, 

Haste,  and  do  not  stop ! 

Wander,  wander 
Onward  lightly, 
So  that  rightly 
Flow  the  torrent, 
And  with  teeming  waters  yonder 

In  the  bath  discharge  its  current ! 

See  !  he's  running  to  the  shore. 

And  has  now  attained  the  pool. 
And  with  lightning  speed  once  more 
Comes  here  with  his  bucket  full ! 
Back  he  then  repairs  ; 

See  how  swells  the  tide  ! 
How  each  pail  he  bears 
Straightway  is  supplied ! 

Stop,  for,  lo ! 
All  the  measure 
Of  thy  treasure 
Now  is  right !  — 
Ah,  I  see  it !  woe,  oh,  woe  ! 

I  forget  the  word  of  might. 

Ah,  the  word  whose  sound  can  straight 

Make  him  what  he  was  before ! 
Ah,  he  runs  with  nimble  gait ! 

Would  thou  wert  a  broom  once  more ! 
Streams  renewed  for  ever 

Quickly  bringeth  he ; 
Eiver  after  river 

Eusheth  on  poor  me. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  i6i 

Now  no  longer 
Can  I  bear  him  ; 
I  will  snare  him, 
Knavish  sprite  ! 
Ah,  my  terror  waxes  stronger  ! 

What  a  look  ■  what  fearful  sight ! 

Oh,  thou  villain  child  of  hell ! 

Shall  the  house  through  thee  be  drowned  ? 
Floods  I  see  that  wildly  swell. 

O'er  the  threshold  gaining  ground. 
Wilt  thou  not  obey, 

Oh,  thou  broom  accursed  ? 
Be  thou  still,  I  pray. 
As  thou  wert  at  first ! 

Will  enough 

Never  please  thee  ? 
I  will  seize  thee. 
Hold  thee  fast, 
And  thy  nimble  wood  so  tough, 
♦         With  my  sharp  axe  split  at  last. 

See,  once  more  he  hastens  back  ! 

Now,  oh,  Cobold,  thou  shalt  catch  it! 
I  will  rush  upon  his  track  ; 

Crashing  on  him  falls  my  hatchet. 
Bravely  done,  indeed  ! 

See,  he's  cleft  in  twain  ! 
Now  from  care  I'm  freed. 
And  can  breathe  again. 


*QV 


Woe,  oh,  woe ! 
Both  the  parts. 
Quick  as  darts. 
Stand  on  end. 
Servants  of  my  dreaded  foe ! 

Oh,  ye  gods,  protection  send ! 


i62  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

And  they  run  !  and  wetter  still 
Grow  the  steps  and  grows  the  hall. 
Lord  and  master,  hear  me  call ! 
Ever  seems  the  flood  to  fill, 
Ah,  he's  coming  !  see, 

Great  is  my  dismay  ! 
Spirits  raised  by  me 
Vainly  would  I  lay  ! 

"  To  the  side 
Of  the  room 
Hasten,  broom, 
As  of  old  ! 
Spirits  I  have  ne'er  untied 

Save  to  act  as  they  are  told." 


BEFORE   A    COUET    OF   JUSTICE. 

The  father's  name  ye  ne'er  shall  be  told 
Of  my  darhng  unborn  life ; 
"  Shame,  shame,"  ye  cry,  "  on  the  strumpet  bold  !  " 
Yet  I  am  an  honest  wife. 

To  whom  I'm  wedded,  ye  ne'er  shall  be  told. 

Yet  he's  both  loving  and  fair ; 
He  wears  on  his  neck  a  chain  of  gold, 

And  a  hat  of  straw  doth  he  wear. 

If  scorn  'tis  vain  to  seek  to  repel. 

On  me  let  the  scorn  be  thrown. 
I  know  him  well,  and  he  knows  me  well, 

And  to  God,  too,  all  is  known. 

Sir  Parson  and  Sir  Bailiff,  again, 

I  pray  you,  leave  me  in  peace  ! 
My  child  it  is,  my  child  'twill  remain, 

So  let  your  questionings  cease ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  163 

THE   GOD   AND    THE   BAYADEEE. 

AN   INDIAN   LEGEND. 

[This  very  fine  ballad  was  also  first  given  in  the  Horen.] 

Mahadeva,^  Lord  of  earth, 

For  the  sixth  time  comes  below, 
As  a  man  of  mortal  birth,  — 

Like  him,  feeling  joy  and  woe. 
Hither  loves  he  to  repair. 

And  his  power  behind  to  leave ; 
If  to  punish  or  to  spare, 

Men  as  man  he'd  fain  perceive. 
And  when  he  the  town  as  a  traveller  hath  seen, 
Observing  the  mighty,  regarding  the  mean. 
He  quits  it,  to  go  on  his  journey,  at  eve. 

He  was  leaving  now  the  place, 

Wlien  an  outcast  met  his  eyes,  — 
Fair  in  form,  with  painted  face,  — 
Where  some  straggling  dwellings  rise, 
"  Maiden,  hail ! "  —  "  Thanks  !  welcome  here  ! 

Stay  !  —  I'll  join  thee  in  the  road."  — 
"  Who  art  thou  ? "  —  "A  Bayadere, 
And  this  house  is  love's  abode." 
The  cymbal  she  hastens  to  play  for  the  dance. 
Well  skilled  in  its  mazes  the  sight  to  entrance. 
Then  by  her  with  grace  is  the  nosegay  bestowed. 

Then  she  draws  him,  as  in  play. 
O'er  the  threshold  eagerly  : 
"  Beauteous  stranger,  hght  as  day. 
Thou  shalt  soon  this  cottage  see. 

1  One  of   the  numerous  names  of   Seeva  the  destroyer,  —  the 
great  god  of  the  Brahmins. 


1 64  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

I'll  refresh  thee,  if  thou'rt  tired, 

And  will  bathe  thy  weary  feet ; 
Take  whate'er  by  thee's  desired, 
Toyiug,  rest,  or  rapture  sweet."  — 
She  busily  seeks  his  feigned  suffrings  to  ease ; 
Then  smiles  the  Immortal  ;  with,  pleasure  he  sees 
That  with  kindness  a  heart  so  corrupted  can  beat. 

And  he  makes  her  act  the  part 

Of  a  slave ;  he's  straight  obeyed. 
What  at  first  had  been  but  art, 

Soon  is  nature  in  the  maid. 
By  degrees  the  fruit  we  find. 

Where  the  buds  at  first  obtain  ; 
When  obedience  fills  the  mind. 
Love  wHl  never  far  remain. 
But  sharper  and  sharper  the  maiden  to  prove, 
The  Discerner  of  all  things  below  and  above, 
Feigns  pleasure,  and  horror,  and  maddening  pain. 

And  her  painted  cheeks  he  kisses. 

And  his  vows  her  heart  enthral ; 
Feeling  love's  sharp  pangs  and  blisses 

Soon  her  tears  begin  to  fall. 
At  his  feet  she  now  must  sink, 

Not  with  thoughts  of  lust  or  gain,  — 
And  her  slender  members  shrink 
And  devoid  of  power  remain. 
And  so  the  bright  hours  with  gladness  prepare 
Their  dark,  pleasing  veil  of  a  texture  so  fair, 
And  over  the  couch  softly,  tranquilly  reign. 

Late  she  falls  asleep,  thus  blessed,  — 

Early  wakes,  her  slumbers  fled, 
And  she  finds  the  much-loved  guest 

On  her  bosom  lying  dead. 


fl:»e.irionyl  .1  yd  ynuniwj  -iiil  moil  aii/VKigoJorf'J 


1 04 


3ver  far  remain. 
dT  and  sharper  t^  len  to  prove, 

luc  i  '  .  below  and  above, 

"  '  ";iid  maddening  pain. 


dness  prepare 
.ture  so  fair, 
iiquilly  reign. 


St 

"  Then  She  Sink's  beside  His  Bier'" 

Photogravure  from  the  painting  by  F.  Kirchbach 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  165 

Screaming  falls  she  ou  him  there, 

But,  alas,  too  late  to  save  ! 
And  his  rigid  limbs  they  bear 
Straightway  to  their  fiery  gi'ave, 
Then  hears  she  the  priests  and  the  funeral  song, 
Then  madly  she  runs,  and  she  severs  the  throng  : 
"  Why  press  tow'rd  the  pile  thus  ?     Why  scream  thus 
and  rave  ? " 

Then  she  sinks  beside  his  bier, 

And  her  screams  through  air  resound  : 
"  I  must  seek  my  spouse  so  dear, 
E'en  if  in  the  grave  he's  bound. 
Shall  those  limbs  of  grace  divine 

Fall  to  ashes  in  my  sight  ? 
Mine  he  was  !     Yes,  only  mine  ! 
Ah,  one  single  blissful  night !  " 
The  priests  chant  in  chorus  :  "  We  bear  out  the  old. 
When  long  they've  been  weary,  and  late  they've  grown 

cold ; 
We  bear  out  the  young,  too,  so  thoughtless  and  hght. 

"  To  thy  priests'  command  give  ear ! 
This  one  was  thy  husband  ne'er ; 
Live  still  as  a  Bayadere, 

And  no  duty  thou  need'st  share. 
To  death's  silent  realms  from  life. 

None  but  shades  attend  man's  frame, 
With  the  husband,  none  but  wife,  — 
That  is  duty,  that  is  fame. 
Ye  trumpets,  your  sacred  lament  haste  to  raise ! 
Oil,  welcome,  ye  gods,  the  bright  lustre  of  days ! 
Oh,  welcome  to  heaven  the  youth  from  the  flame ! " 

Thus  increased  her  torments  are 
By  the  cruel,  heartless  choir ; 


1 66  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

And  with  arms  outstretching  far 
Leaps  she  on  the  glowing  pyre. 
But  the  youth  divine  outsprings 

From  the  flame  with  heav'nly  grace, 
And  on  high  his  flight  he  wings, 
While  his  arms  his  love  embrace. 
In  the  sinner  repentant  the  Godhead  feels  joy; 
Immortals  dehght  thus  their  might  to  employ 
Lost  children  to  raise  to  a  heavenly  place. 


THE   PARIAH. 

I.    THE    PAKIAH'S    prayer. 

Dreaded  Brama,  lord  of  might ! 

All  proceed  from  thee  alone ; 
Thou  art  he  who  judgeth  right ! 

Dost  thou  none  but  Brahmins  own  ? 
Do  but  Rajahs  come  from  thee  ? 

None  but  those  of  high  estate  ? 

Didst  not  thou  the  ape  create, 
Ay,  and  even  such  as  we  ? 

We  are  not  of  noble  kind, 

For  with  woe  our  lot  is  rife ; 
And  what  others  deadly  find 

Is  our  only  source  of  life. 
Let  this  be  enough  for  men. 

Let  them,  if  they  wiU,  despise  us ; 

But  thou,  Brama,  thou  shouldst  prize  us. 
All  are  equal  in  thy  ken. 

Now  that,  Lord,  this  prayer  is  said. 
As  thy  child  acknowledge  me ; 

Or  let  one  be  born  instead. 

Who  may  link  me  on  to  thee ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  167 

Didst  not  thou  a  Bayadere 

As  a  goddess  heavenward  raise  ? 

And  we,  too.  to  swell  thy  praise, 
Such  a  miracle  would  hear. 


II.    LEGEND. 

[The  successful  manner  in  which  Groethe  employs  the  simple 
rhymele&s.  trochaic  metre  in  this  and  in  many  other  poems  will 
perhaps  be  rem;vrked  hy  the  reader.] 

"Water  -  fetching  croes  the  noble 

Brahmin's  wife,  so  pure  and  lovely  ; 

He  is  honoured,  void  of  blemish, 

And  of  justice  rigid,  stern. 

Daily  from  the  sacred  river 

Brings  she  back  refreshment  precious,  — 

But  where  is  the  pail  and  pitcher  ? 

She  of  neither  stands  in  need. 

For  with  pure  heart,  hands  unsullied, 

She  the  water  lifts,  and  rolls  it 

To  a  wondrous  ball  of  crystal ; 

This  she  bears  with  gladsome  bosom, 

Modestly,  with  graceful  motion. 

To  her  husband  in  the  house. 

She  tcH.iav  at  dawn  of  morning 

Framing  comes  to  Ganges'  waters. 

Bends  her  o'er  the  glassv  surface  — 

Sudden,  in  the  waves  reflected, 

Flying  swiftly  far  above  her. 

From  the  liighest  heavens  descending. 

She  discerns  the  beauteous  form 

Of  a  youth  divine,  created 

By  the  Goii's  primeval  wisdom 

In  liis  own  eternal  bivast. 

"When  she  sees  liim.  straightway  feels  she 

Wondrous,  new,  confused  sensations 


1 68  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

In  her  inmost,  deepest  being ; 

Fain  she'd  linger  o'er  the  vision, 

Then  repels  it,  —  it  returneth, — 

And,  perplexed,  she  bends  her  flood-wards 

With  uncertain  hands  to  draw  it ; 

But,  alas,  she  draws  no  more  ! 

For  the  water's  sacred  billows 

Seem  to  fly,  to  hasten  from  her ; 

She  but  sees  the  fearful  chasm 

Of  a  whirlpool  black  disclosed. 

Arms  drop  down,  and  footsteps  stumble, 
Can  this  be  the  pathway  homewards  ? 
Shall  she  fly,  or  shall  she  tarry  ? 
Can  she  think,  when  thought  and  counsel, 
When  assistance,  all  are  lost  ? 
So  before  her  spouse  appears  she  — 
On  her  looks  he  —  look  is  judgment  — 
Proudly  on  the  sword  he  seizes, 
To  the  hill  of  death  he  drags  her. 
Where  delinquents'  blood  pays  forfeit. 
What  resistance  could  she  offer  ? 
What  excuses  could  she  proffer. 
Guilty,  knowing  not  her  guilt  ? 

And  with  bloody  sword  returns  he. 
Musing,  to  his  silent  dwelhng, 
When  his  son  before  him  stands : 
«  Whose  this  blood  ?     Oh,  father  !  father  ! " 
"  The  delinquent  woman's  ! "  —  "  Never  ! 
For  upon  the  sword  it  dries  not. 
Like  the  blood  of  the  delinquent ; 
Fresh  it  flows,  as  from  the  wound. 
Mother !  mother  !  hither  hasten ; 
Unjust  never  was  my  father. 
Tell  me  what  he  now  hath  done."  — 
"  Silence ;  silence  !  hers  the  blood  is  !  " 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  169 

"  Whose,  my  father  ? "  —  "  Silence  !  Silence  ! " 
"  What !  oh,  wliat !  my  mother's  blood  ! 

What  her  crime  ?  What  did  she  ?  Answer  ! 

Now,  the  sword  !  the  sword  now  hold  I ! 

Thou  thy  wife  perchance  might'st  slaughter. 

But  my  mother  might'st  not  slay ! 

Through  the  flames  the  wife  is  able 

Her  beloved  spouse  to  follow. 

And  his  dear  and  only  mother 

Through  the  sword  her  faithful  son." 
"  Stay  !  oh,  stay  !  "  exclaimed  the  father  : 
"  Yet  'tis  time,  so  hasten,  hasten  ! 

Join  the  head  upon  the  body. 

With  the  sword  then  touch  the  figure. 

And,  alive,  she'll  follow  thee." 

Hastening,  he,  with  breathless  wonder, 
Sees  the  bodies  of  two  women 
Lying  crosswise ;  and  their  heads,  too ; 
Oh,  what  horror !  which  to  choose ! 
Then  his  mother's  head  he  seizes,  — 
Does  not  kiss  it,  deadly  pale  'tis,  — 
On  the  nearest  headless  body 
Puts  it  quickly,  and  then  blesses 
With  the  sword  the  pious  work. 
Then  a  giant  form  uprises.  — 
From  the  dear  lips  of  his  mother, 
Lips  all  godlike  —  changeless  —  blissful, 
Sound  these  words  with  horror  fraught : 
"  Son,  oh,  son  !  what  overhastening  ! 
Yonder  is  thy  mother's  body. 
Near  it  hes  the  impious  head 
Of  the  woman  who  hath  fallen 
Victim  to  the  judgment-sword  ! 
To  her  body  I  am  grafted 
By  thy  hand  for  endless  ages ; 
Wise  in  counsel,  wild  in  action, 


I70  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


I  shall  be  amongst  the  gods. 
E'en  the  heavenly  boy's  own  image, 
Though  in  brow  and  eye  so  lovely, 
Sinking  downwards  to  the  bosom 
Mad  and  raging  lust  will  stir. 


"  'Twill  return  again  for  ever, 
Ever  rising,  ever  sinking, 
Now  obscured,  and  now  transfigured, - 
So  great  Brama  hath  ordained. 
He  'twas  sent  the  beauteous  pinions, 
Eadiant  face,  and  slender  members 
Of  the  only  God-begotten, 
That  I  might  be  proved  and  tempted ; 
For  from  high  descends  temptation, 
When  the  gods  ordain  it  so. 
And  so  I,  the  Brahmin  woman, 
With  my  head  in  Heaven  reclining, 
Must  experience,  as  a  Pariah, 
The  debasing  power  of  earth. 

"  Son,  I  send  thee  to  thy  father ! 
Comfort  him  !     Let  no  sad  penance, 
Weak  delay,  or  thought  of  merit, 
Hold  thee  in  the  desert  fast ; 
Wander  on  through  ev'ry  nation. 
Roam  abroad  throughout  all  ages. 
And  proclaim  to  e'en  the  meanest. 
That  great  Brama  hears  his  cry  ! 

"  None  is  in  his  eyes  the  meanest  — 
He  whose  limbs  are  lame  and  palsied, 
He  whose  soul  is  wildly  riven. 
Worn  with  sorrow,  hopeless,  helpless, 
Be  he  Brahmin,  be  he  Pariah, 
If  tow'rd  heaven  he  turns  his  gaze. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  171 

Will  perceive,  will  learn  to  know  it : 
Thousand  eyes  are  glowing  yonder, 
Thousand  ears  are  calmly  list'ning, 
From  which  nought  below  is  hid. 

"  If  I  to  his  throne  soar  upward, 
If  he  sees  my  fearful  figure 
By  Ms  might  transformed  to  horror, 
He  for  ever  will  lament  it,  — 
May  it  to  your  good  be  found ! 
And  I  now  will  kindly  warn  him, 
And  I  now  will  madly  tell  him 
Whatsoe'er  my  mind  conceiveth, 
What  within  my  bosom  heaveth. 
But  my  thoughts,  my  inmost  feelings  — 
Those  a  secret  shall  remain." 


III.      THE    pariah's    thanks. 

Mighty  Brama,  now  I'U  bless  thee  ! 

'Tis  from  thee  that  worlds  proceed  ! 
As  my  ruler  1  confess  thee. 

For  of  all  thou  takest  heed. 

All  thy  thousand  ears  thou  keepest 
Open  to  each  child  of  earth ; 

We,  'mongst  mortals  sunk  the  deepest. 
Have  from  thee  received  new  birth. 

Bear  in  mind  the  woman's  story, 
Who,  through  grief,  divine  became ; 

Now  I'll  wait  to  view  His  glory. 
Who  omnipotence  can  claim. 


172  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


DEATH    LAMENT    OF   THE   NOBLE   WIFE   OF 

ASAN   AGA. 

[This  beautiful  poem,  purporting  to  be  a  translation  from  the 
Morlachiau,  was  first  printed  in  Herder's  admirable  collection  of 
ballads,  translated  into  German  from  almost  every  European  lan- 
guage, and  published  under  the  title  of  Volkslieder.  The  flue 
poetic  instinct  of  Goethe  was  signally  displayed  in  this  composi- 
tion ;  for  although,  as  Mickiewicz  has  observed  ("  Les  Slaves,"  tome 
i.  p.  323,  Paris,  18-49),  he  had  to  divine  the  import  of  the  poem 
across  three  bad  translations,  and  was  at  the  same  time  ignorant 
of  the  Slavic  language,  he  produced  a  perfect  version,  having  in- 
stinctively detected  and  avoided  the  faults  of  the  previous  trans- 
lators.] 

What  is  yon  so  white  beside  the  greenwood  ? 

Is  it  snow,  or  flight  of  cygnets  resting  ? 

Were  it  snow,  ere  now  it  had  been  melted  ; 

Were  it  swans,  ere  now  the  flock  had  left  us. 

Neither  snow  nor  swans  are  resting  yonder, 

'Tis  the  ghttering  tents  of  Asan  Aga. 

Faint  he  lies  from  wounds  in  stormy  battle  ; 

There  his  mother  and  his  sisters  seek  him. 

But  his  wife  hangs  back  for  shame,  and  comes  not. 

When  the  anguish  of  his  hurts  was  over. 
To  his  faithful  wife  he  sent  this  message  — 
"  Longer  'neath  my  roof  thou  shalt  not  tarry, 
Neither  in  my  court  nor  in  my  household." 

When  the  lady  heard  that  cruel  sentence, 
'Reft  of  sense  she  stood,  and  racked  with  anguish ; 
In  the  court  she  heard  the  horses  stamping. 
And  in  fear  that  it  was  Asan  coming, 
Fled  towards  the  tower,  to  leap  and  perish. 

Then  in  terror  ran  her  little  daughters, 
Calling  after  her,  and  weeping  sorely. 


POEAIS  OF  GOETHE  173 

"  These  are  uot  the  steeds  of  Father  Asan ; 
'Tis  our  uncle  Pintorovich  coming  ! " 

And  the  wife  of  Asan  turned  to  meet  him ; 
Sobbing,  threw  her  arms  around  her  brother. 
"  See  the  wrongs,  O  brother,  of  thy  sister ! 
These  five  babes  I  bore  and  must  1  leave  them  ? " 

Silently  the  brother,  from  his  girdle, 
Draws  the  ready  deed  of  separation, 
Wrapped  within  a  crimson  silken  cover. 
She  is  free  to  seek  her  mother's  dwelling  — 
Free  to  join  in  wedlock  with  another. 

When  the  woeful  lady  saw  the  writing, 
Kissed  she  both  her  boys  upon  the  forehead, 
Kissed  on  both  the  cheeks  her  sobbing  daughters ; 
But  she  cannot  tear  herself  for  pity 
From  the  infant  smiling  in  the  cradle  ! 

Eudely  did  her  brother  tear  her  from  it, 
Deftly  lifted  her  upon  a  courser. 
And  in  haste  towards  his  father's  dwelling, 
Spurred  he  onward  with  the  woeful  lady. 

Short  the  space;  seven  days,  but  barely  seven  — 
Little  space  I  ween  —  by  many  nobles 
Was  the  lady  —  still  in  weeds  of  mourning  — 
Was  the  lady  courted  in  espousal. 

Far  the  noblest  was  Imoski's  cadi ; 
And  the  dame  in  tears  besought  her  brother  — 
"  I  adjure  thee,  Ijy  the  life  thou  bearest, 
Give  me  not  a  second  time  in  marriage. 
That  my  heart  may  not  be  rent  asunder 
If  again  I  see  my  darling  children ! " 


174  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Little  recked  the  brother  of  her  bidding, 
Fixed  to  wed  her  to  Imoski's  cadi. 
But  the  gentle  lady  still  entreats  him  — 
Send  at  least  a  letter,  0  my  brother ! 
To  Imoski's  cadi,  thus  imploring  — 
"  I,  the  youthful  widow,  greet  thee  fairly. 
And  entreat  thee  by  this  self-same  token. 
When  thou  comest  hither  with  thy  bridesmen, 
Bring  a  heavy  veil,  that  I  may  shroud  me 
As  we  pass  along  by  Asan's  dwelhng, 
So  I  may  not  see  my  darling  orphans." 

Scarcely  had  the  cadi  read  the  letter, 
When  he  called  together  all  his  bridesmen ; 
Bound  to  bring  the  lady  homewards. 
And  he  brought  the  veil  as  she  entreated. 

Jocundly  they  reached  the  princely  mansion, 
Jocundly  they  bore  her  thence  iu  triumph ; 
But,  when  they  drew  near  to  Asan's  dwelling, 
Then  the  children  recognised  their  mother, 
And  they  cried,  "  Come  back  unto  the  chamber  — 
Share  the  meal  this  evening  with  thy  children ! " 
Then  she  turned  her  to  the  lordly  bridegroom  — 
"  Pray  thee,  let  the  bridesmen  and  their  horses 
Halt  a  little  by  the  once-loved  dwelling. 
Till  I  give  these  presents  to  my  children." 

And  they  halted  by  the  once-loved  dwelling. 
And  she  gave  the  weeping  children  presents. 
Gave  each  boy  a  cap  with  gold  embroidered, 
Gave  each  girl  a  gay  and  costly  garment, 
And  with  tears  she  left  a  tiny  mantle 
For  the  helpless  baby  in  the  cradle. 

These  things  marked  the  father,  Asan  Aga, 
And  in  sorrow  called  he  to  his  children  — 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  175 

"  Turn  again  to  me,  ye  poor  deserted  ; 
Hard  as  steel  is  now  your  mother's  bosom ; 
Shut  so  fast  it  cannot  throb  with  pity ! " 


Thus  he  spoke ;  and  when  the  lady  heard  him, 
Pale  as  death  she  dropped  upon  the  pavement, 
And  the  life  fled  from  her  wretched  bosom, 
As  she  saw  her  children  turning  from  her. 


IDYLL. 

A  village  Chorus  is  supposed  to  he  assembled,  and  about 
to  commence  its  festive  pi'ocession. 

[Written  for  the  birthday  of  the  Duchess  Louisa  of  Weimar.] 

CHORUS. 

The  festal  day  hail  ye 

With  garlands  of  pleasure, 
And  dances'  soft  measure, 

With  rapture  commingled 

And  sweet  choral  song. 

DAMON. 

Oh,  how  I  yearn  from  out  the  crowd  to  flee ! 
What  joy  a  secret  glade  would  give  to  me ! 
Amid  the  throng,  the  turmoil  here, 
Confined  the  plain,  the  breezes  e'en  appear. 


CHORUS. 

Now  order  it  truly. 
That  ev'ry  one  duly 


176  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

May  roam  and  may  wander, 
Now  here  and  now  yonder, 
The  meadows  along. 


[The  Cliorus  retreats  gradually,  and  the  song  becomes  fainter 
and  fainter,  till  it  dies  away  in  the  distance.] 


DAMON. 

In  vain  ye  call,  in  vain  would  lure  me  on ; 
True  my  heart  speaks,  but  with  itself  alone. 
And  if  I  may  view 

A  blessing-fraught  land, 
The  heaven's  clear  blue. 
And  the  plain's  verdant  hue. 
Alone  I'll  rejoice. 
Undisturbed  by  man's  voice. 
And  there  I'll  pay  homage 
To  womanly  merit. 
Observe  it  in  spirit, 
In  spirit  pay  homage  ; 
To  echo  alone 
Shall  my  secret  be  known. 


CHOKUS. 

[Faintly  mingling  with  Damon's  song  in  the  distance.] 

To  echo  —  alone  — 

Shall  my  secret  —  be  known. 

MENALCAS. 

My  friend,  why  meet  I  here  with  thee  ? 

Thou  hastenest  not  to  join  the  festal  throng  ? 
No  longer  stay,  but  come  with  me. 

And  mingle  in  the  dance  and  song. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  177 


DAMON. 


Thou'rt  welcome,  friend  !  but  siifter  me  to  roam 

Where  these  old  beeches  hide  me  from  man's  view ; 

Love  seeks  in  solitude  a  home, 

And  homage  may  retreat  there,  too. 


MENALCAS. 


Thou  seekest  here  a  spurious  fame, 
And  hast  a  mind  to-day  to  grieve  me. 

Love  as  thy  portion  tliou  may'st  claim. 

But  homage  thou  must  share  with  all,  believe  me ! 


When  their  voices  thousands  raise. 
And  the  dawn  of  morning  praise, 

Kapture  bringing, 

Blithely  singing 
On  before  us, 
Heart  and  ear  in  pleasure  vie ; 


And  when  thousands  join  in  chorus. 
With  feehngs  brightly  glowing, 
And  the  wishes  overflowing, 
Forcibly  they'll  bear  thee  high. 


[The  Chorus  gradually  approaches  from  the  distance.] 


DAMON. 

Distant  strains  are  hither  wending, 
And  I'm  gladdened  by  the  throng;    . 

Yes,  they're  coming,  —  yes,  descending 
To  the  valley  from  the  height. 


178  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


MENALCAS. 


Let  US  haste,  our  footsteps  blending 

With  the  rhythm  of  the  song ! 
Yes,  they  come ;  their  course  they're  bending 

Toward  the  wood's  green  sward  so  bright. 


CHOKUS. 
[Gradually  becoming  louder.] 

Yes,  we  hither  come,  attending 
With  the  harmony  of  song. 

As  the  hours  their  race  are  ending 
On  this  day  of  blest  delight. 


ALL. 

Let  none  reveal 
The  thoughts  we  feel, 
The  aims  we  own ! 
Let  joy  alone 

Disclose  the  story ! 
She'll  prove  it  right 
And  her  delight 

Includes  the  glory, 
Includes  the  bliss 
Of  days  like  this  ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  179 


EINALDO.i 

[This  cantata  was  written  for  Prince  Frederick  of  Gotha,  and 
set  to  music  by  Winter,  the  prince  singing  ttie  part  of  Rinaldo.  — 
See  the  Annalen.] 

CHORUS. 

To  the  strand  !  quick,  mount  the  bark  ! 

If  no  favouring  breezes  blow, 

Ply  the  oar  and  nimbly  row, 
And  with  zeal  your  prowess  mark  ! 

O'er  the  sea  we  thus  career. 


RINALDO. 

Oh,  let  me  hnger  one  short  moment  here ! 
'Tis  heaven's  decree,  I  may  not  hence  away. 
The  rugged  cliffs,  the  wood-encircled  bay, 
Hold  me  a  prisoner,  and  my  flight  delay. 

Ye  were  so  fair,  but  now  that  dream  is  o'er; 
The  charms  of  earth,  the  charms  of  heaven  are  nought. 
What  keeps  me  in  this  spot  so  terror-fraught  ? 

My  only  joy  is  fled  from  me  for  evermore. 

Let  me  taste  those  days  so  sweet, 
Heaven  descended,  once  again  ! 
Heart,  dear  heart !  ay,  warmly  beat ! 
Spirit  true,  recall  those  days ! 
Freeborn  breath,  thy  gentle  lays 
Mingled  are  with  joy  and  pain. 

Round  the  beds  so  richly  gleaming, 

Eises  up  a  palace  fair ; 
And  with  rosy  fragrance  teeming, 

As  in  dream  thou  saw'st  it  ne'er. 

^  See  Tasso's  "  Gerusalemme  Liberata,"  Canto  XVI. 


i8o  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

And  this  spacious  garden  round, 
Far  extend  the  galleries  ; 

Eoses  blossom  near  the  ground, 
High  in  air,  too,  bloom  the  trees. 

Wat'ry  flakes  and  jets  are  falling, 
Sweet  and  silv'ry  strains  arise ; 

While  the  turtle-dove  is  calling. 
And  the  nightingale  replies. 

CHORUS. 

Gently  come  !  feel  no  alarm, 
On  a  noble  duty  bent ; 

Vanished  now  is  ev'ry  charm 
That  by  magic  power  was  lent. 

Friendly  words  and  greetings  calm 

On  his  wounds  will  pour  soft  balm. 
Fill  his  mind  with  sweet  content. 

RINALDO. 

Hark  !  the  turtle-dove  is  calling, 
And  the  nightingale  replies  ; 

Wat'ry  flakes  and  jets  are  falling, 
Mingling  with  their  melodies. 

But  all  of  them  say : 
Her  only  we  mean  ; 

But  all  fly  away, 

As  soon  as  she's  seen,  — 

The  beauteous  young  maiden. 
With  graces  so  rife. 

Then  hly  and  rose 

In  wreaths  are  entwining : 
In  dances  combining, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  l8i 

Each  zephyr  that  blows 

Its  brother  is  greeting, 

All  flying  and  meeting 
With  balsam  full  laden, 

When  awakened  to  life. 


CHOEUS. 

No  !  no  longer  may  we  wait ; 
Rouse  him  from  his  vision  straight ! 
Show  the  adamantine  shield  ! 

RINALDO. 

Woe !  what  form  is  here  revealed  ! 

CHORUS. 

'Twill  disclose  the  cheat  to  thee. 

RINALDO. 

Am  I  doomed  myself  to  see 
Thus  degraded  evermore  ? 

CHORUS. 

Courage  take,  and  all  is  o'er. 

RINALDO. 

Be  it  so  !  I'll  take  fresh  heart, 
From  the  spot  beloved  depart, 
Leave  Armida  once  again.  — 
Come  then  !  here  no  more  remain ! 

CHORUS. 

Yes,  'tis  well  no  more  remain. 


1 82  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

SEMI  -  CHORUS. 

Away  then  !  let's  fly 

O'er  the  zephyr-kissed  ocean. 

The  soul-lighted  eye 
Sees  armies  in  motion, 

Sees  proud  banners  wave 

O'er  the  dust-sprinkled  course. 


CHORUS. 

From  his  forefathers  brave 
Draws  the  hero  new  force. 


RINALDO. 

With  sorrow  laden, 
Within  this  valley's 
All-silent  alleys 
The  fairest  maiden 
Again  I  see. 
Twice  can  this  be  ? 
What !  shall  I  hear  it, 
And  not  have  spirit 
To  ease  her  pains  ? 

CHORUS. 

Unworthy  chains  ? 

RINALDO. 

And  now  I've  seen  her 
Alas !  how  changed ! 

With  cold  demeanour, 
And  looks  estranged, 

With  ghostly  tread,  — 

All  hope  is  fled, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  183 

Yes,  fled  for  ever. 
The  lightniugs  quiver, 
Each  palace  falls ; 
The  godlike  halls, 
Each  joyous  hour 
Of  spirit-power, 
With  love's  sweet  day- 
All  fade  away ! 


CHORUS. 

Yes,  fade  away  ! 

SEMI  -  CHORUS. 

Already  are  heard 

The  prayers  of  the  pious. 

Why  longer  deny  us  ? 
The  favouring  zephyr 

Forbids  all  delay. 

CHORUS. 

Away,  then  !  away  ! 

RINALDO. 

With  heart  sadly  stirred, 
Your  command  I  receive ; 
Ye  force  me  to  leave. 

Unkind  is  tlfe  zephyr,  — 
Oh,  wherefore  not  stay  ? 

CHORUS. 

Away,  then  !  away ! 


i84  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE  riEST  WALPURGIS-NIGHT. 

A   DRUID. 

Sweet  smiles  the  May  ! 

The  forest  gay 
rrom  frost  aud  ice  is  freed ; 

No  snow  is  found, 

Glad  songs  resound 
Across  the  verdant  mead. 

Upon  the  height 

The  snow  lies  hght, 
Yet  thither  now  we  go, 
There  to  extol  our  Father's  name, 

Whom  we  for  ages  know. 
Amid  the  smoke  shall  gleam  the  flame ; 
Thus  pure  the  heart  will  grow. 

THE    DRUIDS. 

Amid  the  smoke  shall  gleam  the  flame ; 
Extol  we  now  our  Father's  name, 

Whom  we  for  ages  know ! 

Up,  up,  then,  let  us  go ! 

ONE    OF    THE    PEOPLE. 

Would  ye,  then,  so  rashly  act  ? 
Would  ye  instant  death  attract  ? 
Know  ye  not  the  cruel  threats 

Of  the  victors  we  obey  ? 
Round  about  are  placed  their  nets 

In  the  sinful  heathen's  way. 
Ah  !  upon  tlie  lofty  wall 

Wife  and  children  slaughter  they  ; 
And  we  all 
Hasten  to  a  certain  fall. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  185 

CHORUS    OF   WOMEN. 

Ay,  upon  the  camp's  high  wall 
All  our  children  loved  they  slay. 
Ah,  what  cruel  victors  they ! 

And  we  all 

Hasten  to  a  certain  fall. 

A   DRUID. 

Who  fears  to-day 

His  rites  to  pay, 
Deserves  his  chains  to  wear. 

The  forest's  free ! 

This  wood  take  we, 
And  straight  a  pile  prepare ! 

Yet  in  the  wood 

To  stay  'tis  good 
By  day  till  all  is  still, 
With  watchers  all  around  us  placed 

Protecting  you  from  ill. 
With  courage  fresh,  then,  let  us  haste 
Our  duties  to  fulfil. 

CHORUS    OF   WATCHERS. 

Ye  valiant  watchers  now  divide 

Your  numbers  through  the  forest  wide, 

And  see  that  all  is  still. 

While  they  their  rites  fulfil. 

A    WATCHER. 

Let  us  in  a  cunning  wise, 

Yon  dull  Christian  priests  surprise ! 

With  the  devil  of  their  talk 

We'll  those  very  priests  confound. 
Come  with  prong  and  come  with  fork, 

Eaise  a  wild  and  rattling  sound 


i86  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Through  the  livelong  night,  and  prowl 

All  the  rocky  passes  round. 
Screech-owl,  owl. 
Join  in  chorus  with  our  howl ! 


CHOEUS    OF    WATCHERS. 

Come  with  prong,  and  come  with  fork, 

Like  the  devil  of  their  talk, 

And  with  wildly  ratthng  sound, 

Prowl  the  desert  rocks  around  ! 

Screech-owl,  owl. 

Join  in  chorus  with  our  howl ! 


A    DKUID. 

Thus  far  'tis  right. 

That  we  by  night 
Our  Father's  praises  sing  ; 

Yet  when  'tis  day, 

To  Thee  we  may 
A  heart  unsullied  bring. 

'Tis  true  that  now, 

And  often,  Thou 
Favourest  the  foe  in  fight. 
As  from  the  smoke  is  freed  the  blaze, 

So  let  our  faith  burn  bright ! 
And  if  they  crush  our  olden  ways. 
Who  e'er  can  crush  Thy  hght  ? 

A   CHRISTIAN    WATCHER. 

Comrades,  quick  !  your  aid  afford  ! 
All  the  brood  of  hell's  abroad : 
See  how  their  enchanted  forms 

Through  and  through  with  flames  are  glowing ! 
Dragon-women,  men-wolf  swarms. 

On  in  quick  succession  going ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  187 

Let  us,  let  us  haste  to  fly ! 

Wilder  yet  the  sounds  are  growing. 
And  the  arch  fiend  roars  on  high ; 
From  the  ground 
Hellish  vapours  rise  around. 

CHORUS    OF    CHRISTIAN    WATCHERS. 

Terrible  enclianted  forms, 

Dragon- wo  men,  men-wolf  sw^arms  ! 

Wilder  yet  the  sounds  are  growing ! 

See,  the  arch  fiend  comes,  all-glowing ! 

From  the  ground 

Hellish  vapours  rise  around. 

CHORUS    OF    DRUIDS. 

As  from  the  smoke  is  freed  the  blaze, 

So  let  our  faith  burn  bright !       ' 
And  if  they  crush  our  olden  ways, 

Whoe'er  can  crush  Thy  light  ? 


The  following  odes  are  the  most  singular  of  all  the  poems  of 
Goethe,  and  to  many  will  appear  so  wild  and  fantastic  as  to  leave 
anything  but  a  pleasing  impression.  Those  at  the  beginning,  ad- 
dressed to  his  friend  Behrisch,  were  written  at  the  age  of  eighteen, 
and  most  of  the  remainder  were  composed  while  he  was  still  quite 
young.  Despite,  however,  the  extravagance  of  some  of  them, 
such  as  the  "  Winter  Journey  over  the  Hartz  Mountain  "  and  the 
"Wanderer's  Storm-Song,"  nothing  can  be  finer  than  the  noble 
one  entitled  "  Mahomet's  Sons-,"  and  others,  such  as  the  "Spirit 
Song  over  the  Waters,"  "The  Godlike,"  and,  above  all,  the 
magnificent  sketch  of  "  Prometheus,"  which  forms  part  of  an 
unfinished  piece  bearing  the  same  name,  and  called  by  Goethe  a 
"Dramatic  Fragment." 


i88  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


TO   MY   FEIEND. 

[These  three  odes  are  addressed  to  a  certain  Behrisch,  who 
was  tutor  to  Count  Linedenan,  and  of  whom  Goethe  gives  an  odd 
account  at  the  end  of  the  seventh  booli  of  his  "  Autobiography."] 

FIKST    ODE. 

Tkansplant  the  beauteous  tree ! 
Gardener,  it  gives  me  pain  ; 
A  happier  resting-place 
Its  trunk  deserved. 

Yet  the  strength  of  its  nature 
To  Earth's  exhausting  avarice, 
To  Air's  destructive  inroads, 
An  antidote  opposed. 

See  how  it  in  spring-time 
Coins  its  pale  green  leaves ! 
Their  orange-fragrance 
Poisons  each  fly-blow  straight. 

The  caterpillar's  tooth 
Is  blunted  by  them  ; 
With  silvery  hues  they  gleam 
In  the  bright  sunshine. 

Its  twigs  the  maiden 
Fain  would  twine  in 
Her  bridal-garland ; 
Youth  its  fruit  are  seeking. 

See,  the  autumn  cometh  ! 
The  caterpillar 
Sighs  to  the  crafty  spider,  — 
Sighs  that  the  tree  will  not  fade. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  189 

Hov'riug  thither, 
From  out  her  yew-tree  dwelKug, 
The  gaudy  foe  advances 
Agaiust  the  kindly  tree, 

And  cannot  hurt  it. 
But  the  more  artful  one 
Detiles  with  nauseous  venom 
Its  silver  leaves ; 

And  sees  with  triumph 
How  the  maiden  shudders, 
The  youth,  how  mourns  he, 
On  passing  by. 

Transplant  the  beauteous  tree ! 
Gardener,  it  gives  me  pain. 
Tree,  thank  the  gardener 
Who  moves  thee  hence ! 


SECOND    ODE. 

Thou  goest !  I  murmur  — 
Go!  let  me  murmur. 
Oh,  worthy  man. 
Fly  from  this  land  ! 

Deadly  marshes, 
Steaming  mists  of  October 
Here  interweave  their  currents, 
Blending  for  ever. 

Noisome  insects 
Here  are  engendered ; 
Fatal  darkness 
Veils  their  malice. 


190  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

The  fiery-tongued  serpent, 
Hard  by  the  sedgy  bank, 
Stretches  his  pampered  body, 
Caressed  by  the  sun's  bright  beams. 

Tempt  no  gentle  night-rambles 
Under  the  moon's  cold  twilight ! 
Loathsome  toads  hold  their  meetings 
Yonder  at  every  crossway. 

Injuring  not, 

Fear  will  they  cause  thee. 

Oh,  worthy  man, 

Fly  from  this  land ! 


THIRD    ODE. 

Be  void  of  feeling ! 
A  heart  that  soon  is  stirred, 
Is  a  possession  sad 
Upon  this  changing  earth. 

Behrisch,  let  spring's  sweet  smile 
Never  gladden  thy  brow  ! 
Then  winter's  gloomy  tempests 
Never  will  shadow  it  o'er. 

Lean  thyself  ne'er  on  a  maiden's 
Sorrow-engendering  breast. 
Ne'er  on  the  arm, 
Misery-fraught,  of  a  friend. 

Already  Envy 

From  out  his  rocky  ambush 

Upon  thee  turns 

The  force  of  his  lynx-like  eyes, 


POE.MS  OF  GOETHE  191 

Stretches  his  talons, 
On  thee  falls, 
In  thy  shoulders 
Cunningly  plants  them. 

Strong  are  his  skinny  arms, 
As  panther-claws ; 
He  shaketh  thee, 
And  rends  thy  frame. 

Death  'tis  to  part ; 
'Tis  threefold  death 
To  part,  not  hoping 
Ever  to  meet  again. 

Thou  wouldst  rejoice  to  leave 
This  hated  land  behind, 
Wert  thou  not  chained  to  me 
With  friendship's  flowery  chains. 

Burst  them  !     I'll  not  repine. 
No  noble  friend 
Would  stay  his  fellow  captive 
If  means  of  flight  appear. 

The  remembrance 

Of  his  dear  friend's  freedom 

Gives  Mm  freedom 

In  his  dungeon. 


'&^ 


Thou  goest,  —  I'm  left. 
But  e'en  already 
The  last  year's  winged  spokes 
Wliirl  round  the  smoken  axle. 


192  POEMS   OF  GOETHE 

I  number  the  turns 
Of  the  thundering  wheel ; 
The  last  one  I  bless,  — 
Each  bar  then  is  broken,  I'm  free  then 
as  thou! 


SONG  OF  THE   SPIEITS   OVER  THE  WATERS. 

The  soul  of  man  is  like  to  water; 
From  Heaven  it  cometh. 
To  Heaven  it  riseth, 
And  then  returneth  to  earth. 
For  ever  alternating. 
Then  foameth  brightly. 
In  cloud-waves  rolling, 
O'er  polished  rocks. 
Then  tranquil  flowing. 
It  wandereth,  hiding, 
Soft  murmuring  to  depths  below  it. 
Over  scrags  from  the  steep  projecting 
Falls  it  all  roaring,  foaming,  step-like, 
Far  downward. 
Then,  level  flowing, 
Creeps  to  the  meadow  away : 
And  in  the  glassy  sea 
Gaze  all  the  planets  at  their  fair  faces. 

Wind  is  to  wavelet  tenderest  lover: 
Wind  from  the  deep  tears  foam-crested  billows. 
Soul  of  man  mortal,  how  art  thou  like  water ! 
Fate  of  man  mortal,  how  art  thou  like  wind  ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  193 


MAHOMET'S    SONG. 

[Thjs  song  was  intended  to  be  introduced  in  a  dramatic  poem 
entitled  "Maliomet,"  tiie  plan  of  wliich  was  not  carried  out  by- 
Goethe.  He  mentions  that  it  was  to  have  been  sung  by  Ali 
toward  the  end  of  the  piece,  in  honour  of  his  master,  Mahomet, 
shortly  before  his  death,  and  when  at  the  height  of  his  glory,  of 
which  it  is  typical.] 

See  the  rock-born  stream  ! 

Like  the  gleam 

Of  a  star  so  bright ! 

Kindly  spirits 

High  above  the  clouds 

Nourished  him  while  youthful 

In  the  copse  between  the  cliffs. 


Young  and  fresh, 
From  the  clouds  he  danceth 
Down  upon  the  marble  rocks ; 
Then  toward  heaven 
Leaps  exulting. 

Through  the  mountain-passes 
Chaseth  he  the  coloured  pebbles, 
And,  advancing  like  a  chief. 
Tears  his  brother  streamlets  with  him 
In  his  course. 

In  the  valley  down  below 

'Neath  his  footsteps  spring  the  flowers, 

And  the  meadow 

In  his  breath  finds  life. 

Yet  no  shady  vale  can  stay  him, 
Nor  can  flowers, 


194  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Round  his  knees  all  softly  twining 
With  their  loving  eyes  detain  him; 
To  the  plain  his  course  he  taketh, 
Serpent- winding. 

Social  streamlets 

Join  his  waters.     And  now  moves  he 

O'er  the  plain  in  silv'ry  glory, 

And  the  plain  in  him  exults, 

And  the  rivers  from  the  plain, 

And  the  streamlets  from  the  mountain, 

Shout  with  joy,  exclaiming  :  "  Brother, 

Brother,  take  thy  brethren  with  thee, 

With  thee  to  thine  aged  father, 

To  the  everlasting  ocean. 

Who,  with  arms  outstretching  far, 

Waiteth  for  us ; 

Ah,  in  vain  those  arms  lie  open 

To  embrace  his  yearning  children  ; 

For  the  thirsty  sand  consumes  us 

In  the  desert  waste ;  the  sunbeams 

Drink  our  life-blood ;  hills  around  us 

Into  lakes  would  dam  us  !     Brother, 

Take  thy  brethren  of  the  plain, 

Take  thy  brethren  of  the  mountain 

With  thee,  to  thy  father's  arms  !  " 

Let  all  come,  then  !  — 

And  now  swells  he 

Lordlier  still ;  yea,  e'en  a  people 

Bears  his  regal  flood  on  high  ! 

And  in  triumph  onward  rolling, 

Names  to  countries  gives  he,  —  cities 

Spring  to  light  beneath  his  foot. 

Ever,  ever,  on  he  rushes. 

Leaves  the  towers'  fiarae-tipped  summits. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  195 

Marble  palaces,  the  offspring 
Of  his  fulness,  far  behind. 

Cedar-houses  bears  the  Atlas 
On  his  giant  shoulders ;  fluttering 
In  the  breeze  far,  far  above  him 
Thousand  flags  are  gaily  floating, 
Bearing  witness  to  his  might. 

And  so  beareth  he  his  brethren, 
All  his  treasures,  all  liis  children, 
Wildly  shouting,  to  the  bosom 
Of  his  long-expectant  sire. 


MY    GODDESS. 

Say,  which  Immortal 
Merits  the  highest  reward  ? 
With  none  contend  I, 
But  I  will  give  it 
To  the  aye-changing, 
Ever-moving 

Wondrous  daughter  of  Jove, 
His  best-beloved  offspring, 
Sweet  Phantasy. 

For  unto  her 

Hath  he  gi-anted 

All  the  fancies  which  erst 

To  none  allowed  he 

Saving  himself ; 

Now  he  takes  his  pleasure 

In  the  mad  one. 

She  may,  crowned  with  roses, 
With  staff  twined  round  with  lilies 


196  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Roam  through  flowery  valleys, 
Rule  the  butterfly  people, 
And  soft-uourishing  dew 
With  bee-like  lips 
Driuk  from  the  blossom: 

Or  else  she  may, 
With  fluttering  hair 
And  gloomy  looks, 
Sigh  in  the  wind 
Round  rocky  cliffs, 
And  thoiisand-hued, 
Like  morn  and  even, 
Ever  changing. 
Like  moonbeam's  light, 
To  mortals  appear. 

Let  us  all,  then, 
Adore  the  Father ! 
The  old,  the  mighty. 
Who  such  a  beauteous 
Ne'er-fading  spouse 
Deigns  to  accord 
To  perishing  mortals  ! 

To  us  alone 
Doth  he  unite  her, 
With  heavenly  bonds. 
While  he  commands  her 
In  joy  and  sorrow, 
As  a  true  spouse 
Never  try  to  fly  us. 

All  the  remaining 
Races  so  poor 
Of  life-teeming  earth. 
In  children  so  rich, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  197 

Wander  and  feed 
In  vacant  enjoyment, 
And  'mid  the  dark  sorrows 
Of  evanescent 
Kestricted  life, — 
Bowed  by  the  heavy 
Yoke  of  Necessity. 

But  unto  us  he 
Hath  his  most  versatile, 
Most  cherished  daughter 
Granted,  —  what  joy  ! 

Lovingly  gi-eet  her 
As  a  beloved  one  ! 
Give  her  the  woman's 
Place  in  our  home  ! 

And,  oh,  may  the  aged 
Stepmother  Wisdom 
Her  gentle  spirit 
Ne'er  seek  to  harm  ! 

Yet  know  I  her  sister, 
The  older,  sedater. 
Mine  own  silent  friend  ; 
Oh,  may  she  never, 
Till  life's  lamp  is  quenched, 
Turn  away  from  me, — 
That  noble  inciter. 
Comforter,  —  Hope ! 


198  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

HARTZ  MOUNTAINS. 

RIDE    TO    THE    HARTZ    IN    WINTER, 

[The  following  explanation  is  necessary  in  order  to  make  this  ode 
in  any  way  intelligible.  The  poet  is  supposed  to  leave  his  com- 
panions, who  are  proceeding  on  a  hunting  expedition  in  winter, 
in  order  himself  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  hypochondriacal  friend,  and 
also  to  see  the  mining  in  the  Hartz  mountains.  Tlie  ode  alter- 
nately describes,  in  a  very  fragmentary  and  peculiar  way,  the 
naturally  happy  disposition  of  the  poet  himself  and  the  unhappi- 
ness  of  his  friend  ;  it  pictures  the  wildness  of  the  road  and  the 
dreariness  of  the  prospect,  which  is  relieved  at  one  spot  by  tbe 
distant  sight  of  a  town,  a  very  vague  allusion  to  which  is  made  in 
the  third  strophe  ;  it  recalls  the  hunting  party  on  which  his  com- 
panions have  gone  :  and,  after  an  address  to  Love,  conchides  by  a 
contrast  between  unexplored  recesses  of  the  highest  peak  of  the 
Hartz  and  the  metalliferous  veins  of  its  smaller  brethren.] 

Free  as  the  hawk, 

Which,  on  yon  dark  morning  cloud-pile, 

With  soft  spread  pinion  resting, 

Looks  out  for  prey, 

Float  my  loose  song ! 

Sure  a  God  hath 
Unto  each  his  path 
Fore-appointed, 
Which  the  fortunate 
Swift  to  happiest 
Goal  pursues : 
But  whom  misfortune 
Hath  frozen  to  the  heart, 
He  frets  him  vainly 
Against  the  restraint  of 
The  wire-woven  cord,  which 
Soon  shall  the  bitter  scissors 
Snap  once  for  all. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  199 


To  gloomy  thicket 

Rushes  the  reindeer  wild, 

And  with  tlie  sparrows  have 

Long  ago  the  rich  folks 

Into  their  swamps  for  shelter  sunk. 

Easy  to  follow  the  chariot, 

When  'tis  Fortune  drives. 

Just  as  the  lumbering  cart 

Over  the  hard,  smooth  road  roUs, 

After  a  monarch's  march. 


But  aside  who  fareth  ? 

In  the  woods  he  loses  his  path ; 

Swiftly  behind  him 

The  boughs  fly  together. 

The  grass  stands  up  again, 

The  desert  o'erwhelms  him. 


Ah,  but  who  healeth  the  pangs  of 
Him,  whose  balm  becomes  poison  ? 
Who  but  hate  for  man 
From  the  fulness  of  love  hath  drunk  ? 
First  despised,  and  now  a  despiser. 
Wastes  he  secretly 
All  his  own  best  worth, 
Brooding  over  himself. 

Is  there  on  thy  psalter. 
Father  of  love,  one  tone 
Which  his  ear  would  welcome  ? 
Oh,  then,  quicken  his  heart ! 
Open  his  beclouded  look 
Over  the  thousand  fountains 
All  around  him  thirsting  there 
In  the  desert. 


200  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Thou,  who  on  each  bestowest 

Joys,  a  superabundant  share, 

Bless  the  brothers  of  the  chase, 

Out  in  search  of  wild  beasts. 

With  danger-loving  zeal  of  youth, 

Eager  to  take  life, 

Late  avengers  of  mischief,  ( 

Which  for  years  hath  defied  the 

Farmer's  threatening  cudgel. 

But  the  lone  wanderer  wrap 
In  thy  golden  cloud-fleeces  ; 
And  wreathe  with  evergreen. 
Till  the  summer  roses  be  blowing. 
The  dripping  ringlets, 
0  Love,  of  this  thy  poet ! 

With  thy  flickering  torch  thou 

Lightest  him  on 

Through  the  fords,  in  the  night, 

Over  treacherous  footing 

On  desolate  commons. 

With  the  thousand  tints  of  the  moon,  thou 

Smilest  to  his  heart  so  ! 

With  the  bitter  cold  blast 

Bearest  him  gloriously  up. 

Winter  torrents  down  from  the  rocks  roll 

Into  his  anthems. 

An  altar  of  cheerfulest  thanks 

Seems  to  him  the  terrible  summit's 

Snow-hung,  hoary  crown, 

Wreathed  with  rows  of  pale  spirits 

By  the  marvellous  people. 

Thou  standest,  with  unexplored  bosom 
Mysteriously  prominent. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  201 

Over  the  astonished  world, 

And  lookest  from  the  clouds  there 

Down  on  its  riches  and  majesty, 

Which  thou  from  the  veins  of  these  thy  brothers 

Eound  thee  here  waterest. 


THE  WANDERER'S  STORM -SONG. 

[Goethe  says  of  this  ode,  that  it  is  the  only  one  remaining  out 
of  several  strange  hymns  and  dithyrambs  composed  by  him  at  a 
period  of  great  unhappiness,  when  the  love-affair  between  iiim 
and  Frederica  had  been  broken  off  by  him.  He  used  to  sing  them 
while  wandering  wildly  about  the  country.  This  particular  one 
was  caused  by  his  being  caught  in  a  tremendous  storm  on  one  of 
these  occasions.  He  calls  it  a  half-crazy  piece  (haT/brinsinn) ,  and 
the  reader  will  probably  agree  with  him.] 

He  whom  thou  ne'er  leavest.  Genius, 

Feels  no  dread  within  his  heart 

At  the  tempest  or  the  rain. 

He  whom  thou  ne'er  leavest,  Genius, 

Will  to  the  rain  clouds, 

Will  to  the  hail-storm, 

Sing  in  reply 

As  the  lark  sings, 

O  thou  on  high  ! 

Him  whom  thou  ne'er  leavest,  Genius, 
Thou  wilt  raise  above  the  mud-track 
With  thy  fiery  pinions. 
He  will  wander, 
As,  with  flowery  feet, 
Over  Deucalion's  dark  flood, 
Python-slaying,  hght,  glorious, 
Pythius  Apollo. 

Him  whom  thou  ne'er  leavest.  Genius, 
Thou  wilt  place  upon  thy  fleecy  pinion. 


2  02  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

When  he  sleepeth  on  the  rock,  — 

Thou  wilt  shelter  with  thy  guardian  wing 

In  the  forest's  midnight  hour. 

Him  whom  thou  ne'er  leavest,  Genius, 

Thou  wilt  wrap  up  warmly 

In  the  snow-drift ; 

Toward  the  warmth  approach  the  Muses, 

Toward  the  warmth  approach  the  Graces. 

Ye  Muses,  hover  round  me ! 

Ye  Graces  also ! 

That  is  water,  that  is  earth. 

And  the  son  of  water  and  of  earth 

Over  which  I  wander. 

Like  the  gods. 

Ye  are  pure,  like  the  heart  of  the  water, 
Ye  are  pure  like  the  marrow  of  earth, 
Hov'riug  round  me,  while  I  hover 
Over  water,  o'er  the  earth, 
Like  the  gods. 

Shall  he,  then,  return, 

The  small,  the  dark,  the  fiery  peasant  ? 

Shall  he,  then,  return,  awaiting 

Only  thy  gifts,  0  Father  Bromius, 

And  brightly  gleaming,  warm  the  spreading 

fire  ? 
Eeturn  with  joy  ? 
And  I,  whom  ye  attended, 
Ye  Muses  and  ye  Graces, 
Whom  all  awaits  that  ye, 
Ye  Muses  and  ye  Graces, 
Of  circling  bliss  in  life 
Have  glorified  —  shall  I 
Return  dejected  ? 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  203 

Father  Bromius ! 

Thou  art  the  Genius, 

Genius  of  ages, 

Thou'it  what  inward  glow 

To  Pindar  was, 

What  to  the  world 

Phoebus  Apollo. 

Woe  !  Woe !  Inward  warmth, 

Spirit-warmth, 

Central-point ! 

Glow,  and  vie  with 

Phoebus  Apollo : 

Coldly  soon 

His  regal  look 

Over  thee  will  swiftly  glide,  — 

Envy-struck 

Linger  o'er  the  cedar's  strength, 

Which,  to  flourish. 

Waits  him  not. 

Why  doth  my  lay  name  thee  the  last  ? 

Thee,  from  whom  it  began. 

Thee,  in  whom  it  endeth, 

Thee,  from  whom  it  flows, 

Jupiter  Pluvius  1 

Toward  thee  streams  my  song, 

And  a  Castalian  spring 

Runs  as  a  fellow  brook, 

Runs  to  the  idle  ones. 

Mortal,  happy  ones. 

Apart  from  thee. 

Who  coverest  me  around, 

Jupiter  Pluvius! 

Not  by  the  elm-tree 
Him  didst  thou  visit. 


2  04  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

With  the  pair  of  doves 

Held  in  his  gentle  arm, — 

With  the  beauteous  garland  of  roses,  — 

Caressing  him,  so  blest  in  his  flowers, 

Anacreon, 

Storm-breathing  godhead  ! 

Not  in  the  poplar  grove, 

Near  the  Sybaris'  strand, 

Not  in  the  mountain's 

Sun-illumined  brow 

Didst  thou  seize  him, 

The  flower-singing. 

Honey -breathing, 

Sweetly  nodding 

Theocritus. 

When  the  wheels  were  rattling, 

Wheel  on  wheel  toward  the  goal, 

High  arose 

The  sound  of  the  lash 

Of  youth  with  victory  glowing. 

In  the  dust  rolling. 

As  from  the  mountain  fall 

Showers  of  stone  in  the  vale  — 

Then  thy  soul  was  brightly  glowing,  Pindar  • 

Glowing  ?     Poor  heart  ? 

There,  on  the  hill, — 

Heavenly  might ! 

But  enough  glow 

Thither  to  wend. 

Where  is  my  cot  ? 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  205 

TO    FATHER!    kRONOS. 

[Written  in  a  post-chaise.] 

Hasten  thee,  Kronos ! 
On  with  clattering  trot ! 
Down  hill  goeth  tliy  path ; 
Loathsome  dizziness  ever, 
When  thou  delayest,  assails  me. 
Quick,  rattle  along, 
Over  stock  and  stone  let  thy  trot 
Into  life  straightway  lead  ! 

Now  once  more 
Up  the  toilsome  ascent 
Hasten,  panting  for  breath  ! 
Up,  then,  nor  idle  be,  — 
Striving  and  hoping,  up,  up ! 

Wide,  high,  glorious  the  view 
Gazing  round  upon  life, 
While  from  mount  unto  mount 
Hovers  the  spirit  eterne. 
Life  eternal  foreboding. 

Sideways  a  roof's  pleasant  shade 
Attracts  thee, 

And  a  look  that  promises  coolness 
On  the  maidenly  threshold. 
There  refresh  thee  !     And,  maiden. 
Give  me  this  foaming  draught  also. 
Give  me  this  health-laden  look  ! 

1  In  the  original,  Schwager,  which  has  the  twofold  meaning  of 
brother-in-law  and  postilion. 


2o6  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Down,  now  !  quicker  still,  down  ! 

See  where  the  sun  sets ! 

Ere  he  sets,  ere  old  age 

Seize  me  in  the  morass. 

Ere  my  toothless  jaws  mumble. 

And  my  useless  limbs  totter  ; 

While  drunk  with  his  farewell  beam 

Hurl  me,  —  a  fiery  sea 

Foaming  still  in  mine  eye,  — 

Hurl  me,  while  dazzled  and  reeling, 

Down  to  the  gloomy  portal  of  hell. 

Blow,  then,  gossip,  thy  horn, 

Speed  on  with  echoing  trot, 

So  that  Orcus  may  know  we  are  coming. 

So  that  our  host  may  with  joy 

Wait  at  the  door  to  receive  us. 


THE    SEA -VOYAGE. 

Many  a  day  and  night  my  bark  stood  ready  laden ; 
Waiting  fav'ring  winds,  I  sat  with  true  friends  round 

me. 
Pledging  me  to  patience  and  to  courage. 
In  the  haven. 

And  they  spoke  thus  with  impatience  twofold : 

"  Gladly  pray  we  for  thy  rapid  passage. 

Gladly  for  thy  happy  voyage  ;  fortune 

In  the  distant  world  is  waiting  for  thee. 

In  our  arms  thou'lt  find  thy  prize,  and  love,  too, 

Wlien  returning." 

And  when  morning  came  arose  an  uproar, 
And  the  sailors'  joyous  shouts  awoke  us ; 
All  was  stirring,  all  was  living,  moving, 
Bent  on  sailing  with  the  first  kind  zephyr. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  207 

And  the  sails  soon  in  the  breezes  are  swelhng, 

And  the  sun  with  fiery  love  invites  us ; 

Filled  the  sails  are,  clouds  on  high  are  floating, 

On  the  shore  each  friend  exultant  raises 

Songs  of  hope,  in  giddy  joy  expecting 

Joy  the  voyage  through,  as  on  the  morn  of  sailing, 

And  the  earhest  starry  nights  so  radiant. 

But  by  God-sent  changing  winds  ere  long  he's  driven 

Sideways  from  the  course  he  had  intended, 

And  he  feigns  as  though  he  would  surrender, 

Wliile  he  gently  striveth  to  outwit  them, 

To  his  goal,  e'en  when  thus  pressed,  still  faithful. 

But  from  out  the  damp  gray  distance  rising. 
Softly  now  the  storm  proclaims  its  advent, 
Presseth  down  each  bird  upon  the  waters, 
Presseth  down  the  throbbing  heart  of  mortals. 
And  it  cometh.     At  its  stubborn  fury, 
Wisely  every  sail  the  seaman  striketh ; 
With  the  anguish-laden  ball  are  sporting 
Wind  and  water. 

And  on  yonder  shore  are  gathered  standing. 

Friends  and  lovers,  trembling  for  the  bold  one : 

"  Why,  alas,  remained  he  here  not  with  us ! 

Ah,  the  tempest !     Cast  away  by  fortune  ! 

Must  the  good  one  perish  in  this  fashion  ? 

Might  not  he  perchance  ...  Ye  great  immortals  !  " 

Yet  he,  like  a  man,  stands  by  his  rudder ; 
With  the  bark  are  sporting  wind  and  water. 
Wind  and  water  sport  not  with  his  bosom : 
On  the  iierce  deep  looks  he,  as  a  master,  — 
In  his  gods,  or  shipwrecked,  or  safe  landed, 
Trusting  ever. 


2o8  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE   EAGLE   AND   THE   DOVE. 

In  search  of  prey  once  raised  his  pinions 

An  eaglet ; 

A  huntsman's  arrow  came,  and  reft 

His  right  wing  of  all  motive  power. 

Headlong  he  fell  into  a  myrtle  grove, 

For  three  long  days  on  anguish  fed, 

In  torment  writhed 

Throughout  three  long,  three  weary  nights  ; 

And  then  was  cured, 

Thanks  to  all-healing  Nature's 

Soft,  omnipresent  balm. 

He  crept  away  from  out  the  copse, 

And  stretched  his  wing  —  alas ! 

Lost  is  all  power  of  flight  — 

He  scarce  can  hft  himself 

From  off  the  ground 

To  catch  some  mean,  unworthy  prey. 

And  rests,  deep-sorrowing. 

On  the  low  rock  beside  the  stream. 

Up  to  the  oak  he  looks, 

Looks  up  to  heaven, 

While  in  his  noble  eye  there  gleams  a  tear. 

Then,  rustling  through  the  myrtle  boughs,  behold, 

There  comes  a  wanton  pair  of  doves, 

Who  settle  down,  and,  nodding,  strut 

O'er  the  gold  sands  beside  the  stream, 

And  gradually  approach  ; 

Their  red-tinged  eyes,  so  full  of  love, 

Soon  see  the  inward-sorrowing  one. 

The  male,  inquisitively  social,  leaps 

On  the  next  bush,  and  looks 

Upon  him  kindly  and  complacently. 
"  Thou  sorrowest,"  murmurs  he  : 
"  Be  of  good  cheer,  my  friend  ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  209 

All  that  is  needed  for  calm  happiness 

Hast  thou  not  here ! 

Hast  thou  not  pleasure  in  the  golden  bough 

That  shields  thee  from  the  day's  fierce  glow  ? 

Canst  thou  not  raise  thy  breast  to  catch, 

On  the  soft  moss  beside  the  brook, 

The  sun's  last  rays  at  even  ? 

Here  thou  may  est  wander  through  the  flowers' 
fresh  dew, 

Pluck  from  the  overflow 

The  forest-trees  provide, 

The  choicest  food,  —  mayest  quench 

Thy  light  thirst  at  the  silvery  spring. 

0  friend,  true  happiness 

Lies  in  contentedness, 

And  that  contentedness 

Finds  everywhere  enough." 
"  O  Avise  one  ! "  said  the  eagle,  while  he  sank 

In  deep  and  ever  deepening  thought  — 
"  O  Wisdom  !  like  a  dove  thou  speakest ! " 


GANYMEDE. 

How,  in  the  light  of  morning. 

Round  me  thou  glowest, 

Spring,  thou  beloved  one  ! 

With  thousand-varying  loving  bliss 

The  sacred  emotions 

liorn  of  thy  warmth  eternal 

Press  'gainst  my  bosom. 

Thou  endlessly  fair  one ! 

Could  I  but  hold  thee  clasped 

Within  mine  arms ! 

Ah  !  upon  thy  bosom 
Lay  I,  pining. 


2IO  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

And  then  thy  flowers,  thy  grass, 
Were  pressing  against  my  heart. 
Thou  coolest  the  burning 
Thirst  of  my  bosom, 
Beauteous  morning  breeze ! 
The  nightingale  then  calls  me 
Sweetly  from  out  of  the  misty  vale. 
I  come,  I  come  ! 
Whither  ?     Ah,  whither  ? 

Up,  up,  lies  my  course. 

While  downward  the  clouds 

Are  hovering,  the  clouds 

Are  bending  to  meet  yearning  love. 

For  me, 

Within  thine  arms 

Upwards ! 

Embraced  and  embracing ! 

Upwards  into  thy  bosom, 

O  Father,  all-loving ! 


FEOMETHEUS. 

Cover  thy  spacious  heavens,  Zeus, 

With  clouds  of  mist. 

And  like  the  boy  who  lops 

The  tliistles'  heads. 

Disport  with  oaks  and  mountain-peaks  ; 

Yet  thou  must  leave 

My  earth  still  standing ; 

My  cottage,  too,  which  was  not  raised  by  thee ; 

Leave  me  my  hearth, 

Wliose  kindly  glow 

By  thee  is  envied. 

I  know  nought  poorer 
Under  the  sun,  than  ye  gods ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  211 


Ye  nourish  painfully, 

"With  sacrifices 

And  votive  prayers, 

Your  majesty  ; 

Ye  would  e'en  starve, 

If  children  and  beggars 

Were  not  trusting  fools. 


While  yet  a  child, 

And  ignorant  of  life, 

I  turned  my  wandering  gaze 

Up  toward  the  sun,  as  if  with  him 

There  were  an  ear  to  hear  my  waihngs, 

A  heart,  like  mine, 

To  feel  compassion  for  distress. 

Wlio  helped  me 

Against  the  Titans'  insolence  ? 

Who  rescued  me  from  certain  death, 

From  slavery  ? 

Didst  thou  not  do  all  this  thyself, 

My  sacred  glowing  heart  ? 

And  glowedst,  young  and  good. 

Deceived  with  grateful  thanks 

To  yonder  slumbering  one  ? 

I  honour  thee,  and  why  ? 

Hast  thou  e'er  hghtened  the  sorrows 

Of  the  heavy  laden  ? 

Hast  thou  e'er  dried  up  the  tears 

Of  the  anguish-stricken  ? 

Was  I  not  fashioned  to  be  a  man 

By  omnipotent  Time, 

And  by  eternal  Fate, 

Masters  of  me  and  thee  ? 

Didst  thou  e'er  fancy 


212  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

That  life  I  should  learn  to  hate, 

And  fly  to  deserts, 

Because  not  all 

My  blossoming  dreams  grew  ripe  ? 

Here  sit  I,  forming  mortals 

After  my  image ; 

A  race  resembling  me. 

To  suffer,  to  weep, 

To  enjoy,  to  be  glad. 

And  thee  to  scorn, 

As  I! 

LIMITS  OF  HUMANITY. 

When  the  Creator, 

The  Great,  the  Eternal, 

Sows  with  indifferent 

Hand,  from  the  rolling 

Clouds,  o'er  the  earth.  His 

Lightnings  in  blessing, 

I  kiss  the  nethermost 

Hem  of  His  garment, 

Lowly  inclining 

In  infantine  awe. 

For  never  against 

The  immortals,  a  mortal 

May  measure  himself. 

Upwards  aspiring. 

He  toucheth  the  stars  with  his  forehead, 

Then  do  his  insecure  feet 

Stumble  and  totter  and  reel ; 

Then  do  the  cloud  and  the  tempest 

Make  him  their  pastime  and  sport. 

Let  him  with  sturdy. 
Sinewy  limbs. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  21, 

Tread  the  enduring 

Firm-seated  earth  ; 

Aiming  no  further,  than 

The  oak  or  the  vine  to  compare ! 

What  doth  distinguish 
Gods  from  mankind  ? 
This !     Multitudinous 
Billows  roll  ever 
Before  the  immortals, 
An  infinite  stream. 
We  by  a  billow 
Are  hfted  —  a  billow 
Engulfs  us  —  we  sink, 
And  are  heard  of  no  more. 

A  httle  round 
Encircles  our  life, 
And  races  unnumbered 
Extend  through  the  ages, 
Linked  by  existence's 
Infinite  chain. 


THE  GODLIKE. 

Noble  be  man, 
Helpful  and  good ! 
For  that  alone 
Distinguisheth  him 
From  all  the  beings 
Unto  us  known. 

Hail  to  the  beings. 
Unknown  and  glorious, 
Whom  we  forebode ! 
From  his  example 


2  14  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Learn  we  to  know  them ! 
For  unfeeliug 
Nature  is  ever. 

On  bad  and  on  good 

The  sun  alike  shiueth  ; 

And  on  the  wicked, 

As  on  the  best, 

The  moon  and  stars  gleam. 

Tempest  and  torrent, 
Thunder  and  hail, 
Eoar  on  their  path. 
Seizing  the  while, 
As  they  haste  onward, 
One  after  another. 

Even  so,  fortune 
Gropes  'mid  the  throng  — 
Innocent  boyhood's 
Curly  head  seizing,  — 
Seizing  the  hoary 
Head  of  the  sinner. 

After  laws  mighty, 
Brazen,  eternal. 
Must  all  we  mortals 
Finish  the  circuit 
Of  our  existence. 

Man,  and  man  only 
Can  do  the  impossible ; 
He  'tis  distinguisheth, 
Chooseth  and  judgeth ; 
He  to  the  moment 
Endurance  can  lend. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  215 

He  and  he  only 
The  good  can  reward, 
The  bad  can  he  punish, 
Can  hea]  and  can  save ; 
All  that  wanders  and  strays 
Can  usefully  blend. 

And  we  pay  homage 

To  the  immortals 

As  though  they  were  men, 

And  did  in  the  great, 

What  the  best,  m  the  small, 

Does  or  might  do. 


"O" 


Be  the  man  that  is  noble, 

Both  helpful  and  good, 

Uuwearily  forming 

The  right  and  the  useful, 

A  type  of  those  beings 

Our  mind  hath  foreshadowed. 


THE   GERMAN   PARNASSUS. 

'Neath  the  shadow 

Of  these  bushes 
On  the  meadow 

Where  the  cooling  water  gushes, 
Phoebus  gave  me,  when  a  boy. 
All  life's  fulness  to  enjoy. 
So,  in  silence,  as  the  God 
Bade  them  with  his  sovereign  nod, 
Sacred  Muses  trained  my  days 
To  his  praise,  — 

With  the  bright  and  silvery  flood 
Of  Parnassus  stirred  my  blood, 


2i6  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

And  the  seal  so  pure  and  chaste 
By  them  on  my  hps  was  placed. 

With  her  modest  pinions,  see, 

Philomel  encircles  me ! 

In  these  bushes,  in  yon  grove, 
Calls  she  to  her  sister-throng, 
And  their  heavenly  choral  song 

Teaches  me  to  dream  of  love. 

Fulness  waxes  in  my  breast 
Of  emotions  social,  blest ; 
Friendship's  nurtured,  —  love  awakes,  - 
And  the  silence  Phoebus  breaks 
Of  his  mountains,  of  his  vales. 
Sweetly  blow  the  balmy  gales ; 
All  for  whom  he  shows  affection. 
Who  are  worthy  his  protection. 
Gladly  follow  his  direction. 

This  one  comes  with  joyous  bearing 
And  with  open,  radiant  gaze  ; 

That  a  sterner  look  is  wearing, 

This  one,  scarcely  cured,  with  daring 
Wakes  the  strength  of  former  days ; 

For  the  sweet,  destructive  flame 

Pierced  his  marrow  and  his  frame. 

That  which  Amor  stole  before 

Phoebus  only  can  restore. 

Peace,  and  joy,  and  harmony. 

Aspirations  pure  and  free. 

Brethren,  rise  ye  ! 
Numbers  prize  ye ! 
Deeds  of  worth  resemble  they. 
Who  can  better  than  the  bard 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  217 

Guide  a  friend  when  gone  astray  ? 

If  his  duty  he  regard, 
More  he'll  do,  than  others  may. 

Yes  !  afar  I  hear  them  sing  ! 

Yes  !  I  hear  them  touch  the  string, 

And  with  mighty  godlike  stroke 

Eight  and  duty  they  inspire 
And  evoke, 

As  they  sing  and  wake  the  lyre, 
Tendencies  of  noblest  worth. 
To  each  type  of  strength  give  birth. 

Phantasies  of  sweetest  power 

Flower 
Round  about  on  every  bough. 

Bending  now 
Like  the  magic  wood  of  old, 
'Neath  the  fruit  that  gleams  like  gold. 

What  we  feel  and  what  we  view 
In  the  land  of  highest  bhss,  — 
This  dear  soil,  a  sun  like  this,  — 

Lures  the  best  of  women  too. 

And  the  Muses'  breathings  blest 

Rouse  the  maiden's  gentle  breast, 

Tune  the  throat  to  minstrelsy. 

And  with  cheeks  of  beauteous  dye, 

Bid  it  sing  a  worthy  song, 

Sit  the  sister-band  among ; 

And  their  strains  grow  softer  still, 

As  they  vie  with  earnest  will. 

One  amongst  the  band  betimes 

Goes  to  wander 
By  the  beeches,  'neath  the  limes. 

Yonder  seeking,  finding  yonder 


2i8  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

That  which  in  the  morning-grove 
She  had  lost  through  roguish  Love, 
All  her  breast's  first  aspirations, 
And  her  heart's  calm  meditations. 
To  the  shady  wood  so  fair 

Gently  stealing, 
Takes  she  that  which  man  can  ne'er 

Duly  merit,  —  each  soft  feeling,  — 
Disregards  the  noontide  ray 
And  the  dew  at  close  of  day,  — 

In  the  plain  her  path  she  loses. 
Ne'er  disturb  her  on  her  way  ! 

Seek  her  silently,  ye  Muses ! 


Shouts  I  hear,  wherein  the  sound 

Of  the  waterfall  is  drowned. 

From  the  grove  loud  clamours  rise, 

Strange  the  tumult,  strange  the  cries. 

See  I  rightly  ?     Can  it  be  ? 

To  the  very  sanctuary, 

Lo,  an  impious  troop  in-hies  ! 


O'er  the  land  And  expose, 

Streams  the  band ;  Void  of  shame. 

Hot  desire.  All  the  frame. 

Drunken-fire  Iron  shot, 

In  their  gaze  Fierce  and  hot. 

Wildly  plays,  —  Strike  with  fear 

Makes  the  hair  On  the  ear ; 

Bristle  there.  All  they  slay 

And  the  troop,  On  their  way. 

With  fell  swoop,  O'er  the  land 

Women,  men,  Pours  the  band  ; 

Coming  then,  All  take  flight 


Ply  their  blows  At  their  sight 


to' 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  219 

Ah,  o'er  every  plant  they  rush ! 
Ah,  their  cruel  footsteps  crush 
All  the  flowers  that  fill  their  path  ! 
Who  will  dare  to  stem  their  wrath  ? 


Brethren,  let  us  venture  all ! 

Virtue  in  your  pure  cheek  glows. 
Phoebus  will  attend  our  call 

When  he  sees  our  heavy  woes ; 
And  that  we  may  have  aright 
Weapons  suited  to  the  fight, 
He  the  mountain  shaketh  now  — 

From  its  brow 

Battling  down 

Stone  on  stone 
Through  the  thicket  spread  appear. 
Brethren,  seize  them !     Wherefore  fear  ? 
Now  the  villain  crew  assail, 
As  though  with  a  storm  of  hail, 
And  expel  the  strangers  wild 
From  these  regions  soft  and  mild 
Where  the  sun  has  ever  smiled ! 


What  strange  wonder  do  I  see  ? 

Can  it  be  ? 
All  my  hmbs  of  power  are  reft. 
And  all  strength  my  hand  has  left. 

Can  it  be  ? 
None  are  strangers  that  I  see ! 
And  our  brethren  'tis  who  go 
On  before,  the  way  to  show ! 
Oh,  the  reckless,  impious  ones  ! 
How  they,  with  their  jarring  tones, 
Beat  the  time,  as  on  they  hie ! 
Quick,  my  brethren  !  —  let  us  fly  ! 


2  20  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

To  the  rash  ones,  yet  a  word ! 
Ay,  my  voice  shall  now  be  heard. 
As  a  peal  of  thunder,  strong ! 

Words  as  poets'  arms  were  made, — 

When  the  god  will  be  obeyed. 
Follow  fast  his  darts  ere  long. 

Was  it  possible  that  ye 
Thus  your  godlike  dignity 
Should  forget  ?     The  Thyrsus  rude 

Must  a  heavy  burden  feel 

To  the  hand  but  wont  to  steal 
O'er  the  lyre  in  gentle  mood. 
From  the  sparkling  waterfalls, 
From  the  brook  that  purling  calls, 
Shall  Silenus'  loathsome  beast 
Be  allowed  at  will  to  feast  ? 
Aganippe's^  wave  he  sips 
With  profane  and  spreading  lips,  — 
With  ungainly  feet  stamps  madly. 
Till  the  waters  flow  on  sadly. 

Fain  I'd  think  myself  deluded 

In  the  saddening  sounds  I  hear  ; 
From  the  holy  glades  secluded 

Hateful  tones  assail  the  ear. 
Laughter  wild  (exchange  how  mournful !) 

Takes  the  place  of  love's  sweet  dream ; 
Women-haters  and  the  scornful 

In  exulting  chorus  scream. 
Nightingale  and  turtle-dove 

Fly  their  nests  so  warm  and  chaste, 
And,  inflamed  with  sensual  love, 

Holds  the  Faun  the  Nymph  embraced. 

1  A  spring  in  Boeotia,  which  arose  out  of  Mount  Helicon,  and 
was  sacred  to  Apollo  and  the  Muses. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  221 


iss, 


Here  a  garment's  torn  away, 
Scoffs  succeed  their  sated  bliss 

While  the  god,  with  angry  ray. 
Looks  upon  each  impious  kiss. 

Vapour,  smoke,  as  from  a  fire. 

And  advancing  clouds  I  view ; 
Chords  not  only  grace  the  lyre. 

For  the  bow  its  chords  hath,  too. 
Even  the  adorer's  heart 

Dreads  the  wild  advancing  band, 
For  the  flames  that  round  them  dart 

Show  the  fierce  destroyer's  hand. 
Oh,  neglect  not  what  I  say, 

For  I  speak  it  lovingly  ! 
From  our  boundaries  haste  away. 

From  the  god's  dread  anger  fly  ! 
Cleanse  once  more  the  holy  place, 

Turn  the  savage  train  aside  ! 
Earth  contains  upon  its  face 

Many  a  spot  uusanctified ; 
Here  we  only  prize  the  good. 

Stars  unsullied  round  us  burn. 
If  ye,  in  repentant  mood, 

From  your  wanderings  would  return. 
If  ye  fail  to  find  the  bliss 

That  ye  found  with  us  of  yore,  — 
Or  when  lawless  mirth  like  this 

Gives  your  hearts  delight  no  more, — 
Then  return  in  pilgrim  guise. 

Gladly  up  the  mountain  go, 
Wliile  your  strains  repentant  rise, 

And  our  brethren's  advent  show. 

Let  a  new-born  wreath  entwine 
Solemnly  your  temples  round ; 


22  2  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Eapture  glows  in  hearts  divine 

When  a  long-lost  sinner's  found. 
Swifter  e'en  the  Lethe's  flood 

Eound  Death's  silent  house  can  play, 
Every  error  of  the  good 

Will  love's  chahce  wash  away. 
All  will  haste  your  steps  to  meet, 

As  ye  come  in  majesty,  — 
Men  your  blessing  will  entreat ;  — 

Ours  ye  thus  will  doubly  be  ! 


LOVE'S   DISTEESSES. 

Who  will  hear  me  ?     Whom  shall  I  lament  to  ? 

Who  would  pity  me  that  heard  my  sorrows  ? 

Ah,  the  hp  that  erst  so  many  raptures 

Used  to  taste,  and  used  to  give  responsive. 

Now  is  cloven,  and  it  pains  me  sorely ; 

And  it  is  not  thus  severely  wounded 

By  my  mistress  having  caught  me  fiercely, 

And  then  gently  bitten  me,  intending 

To  secure  her  friend  more  firmly  to  her : 

No,  my  tender  lip  is  cracked  thus,  only 

By  the  winds,  o'er  rime  and  frost  proceeding. 

Pointed,  sharp,  unloving,  having  met  me. 

Now  the  noble  gi-ape's  bright  juice  commingled 

With  the  bee's  sweet  juice,  upon  the  fire 

Of  my  hearth  shall  ease  me  of  my  torment. 

Ah,  what  use  will  all  this  be,  if  with  it 

Love  adds  not  a  drop  of  his  own  balsam  ? 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  223 


LILI'S  MENAGERIE. 


[Goethe  describes  this  much-admired  poem,  which  he  wrote  in 
honour  of  his  love  Lili,  as  being  "  designed  to  change  his  sur- 
render of  her  into  despair,  by  drolly-fretful  images."] 

There's  no  menagerie,  I  vow, 

Excels  my  Lili's  at  this  minute ; 

She  keeps  the  strangest  creatures  in  it, 
And  catches  them,  she  knows  not  how. 
Oh,  how  they  hop,  and  run,  and  rave, 
And  their  cHpped  pinions  wildly  wave,  — 
Poor  princes,  who  must  all  endure 
The  pangs  of  love  that  nought  can  cure. 

What  is  the  fairy's  name  ?  —  Is  it  Lili  ?  —  Ask  not  me ! 
Give  thanks  to  Heaven  if  she's  unknown  to  thee. 

Oh,  what  a  cackling,  what  a  shrieking 
When  near  the  door  she  takes  her  stand, 
With  her  food-basket  in  her  hand  ! 
Oh,  what  a  croaking,  what  a  squeaking ! 
Alive  all  the  trees  and  the  bushes  appear, 
While  to  her  feet  whole  troops  draw  near ; 
The  very  fish  within  the  water  clear 
Splash  with  impatience  and  their  heads  protrude ; 
And  then  she  throws  around  the  food 
With  such  a  look  !  —  the  very  gods  delighting 
(To  say  nought  of  beasts).     There  begins,  then,  a  biting, 
A  picking,  a  pecking,  a  sippmg. 
And  each  o'er  the  legs  of  another  is  tripping, 
And  pushing,  and  pressing,  and  flapping, 
And  chasing,  and  fuming,  and  snapping. 
And  all  for  one  small  piece  of  bread. 
To  which,  though  dry,  her  fair  hands  give  a  taste, 
As  though  it  in  ambrosia  had  been  placed. 

And  then  her  look  !  the  tone 

With  which  she  calls  :  Pipi !  Pipi ! 


2  24  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Would  draw  Jove's  eagle  from  his  throne  ; 

Yes,  Venus'  turtle-doves,  I  ween, 

And  the  vain  peacock  e'en, 

Would  come,  I  swear. 

Soon  as  that  tone  had  reached  them  through  the  air. 

E'en  from  a  forest  dark  had  she 

Enticed  a  bear,  unlicked,  ill-bred. 

And,  by  her  wiles  alluring,  led 
To  join  the  gentle  company. 
Until  as  tame  as  they  was  he : 
(Up  to  a  certain  point,  be  it  understood !) 
How  fair,  and  ah  !  how  good 
She  seemed  to  be  !     I  would  have  drained  my  blood 

To  water  e'en  her  flow'rets  sweet. 

"Thou  sayest:  /.'   Who?    How?    And  where?"  — 
Well,  to  be  plain,  good  sirs  —  I  am  the  bear ; 
In  a  net  apron,  caught,  alas ! 
Chained  by  a  silk  thread  at  her  feet. 
But  how  this  wonder  came  to  pass 
ni  tell  some  day  if  ye  are  curious  ; 
Just  now,  my  temper's  much  too  furious. 

Ah,  when  I'm  in  the  corner  placed. 
And  hear  afar  the  creatures  snapping, 
And  see  the  flipping  and  the  flapping, 

I  turn  around 

With  growling  sound, 
And  backward  run  a  step  in  haste, 

And  look  around 

With  growling  sound. 
Then  run  again  a  step  in  haste, 

And  to  my  former  post  go  round. 

But  suddenly  my  anger  grows, 
A  mighty  spirit  fills  my  nose, 


PC 

je; 


ae  air. 


urained  my  blood 


sayest:  I  o?    How?    And  where?"' 

o  be  plain,  good  sirs  —  I  am  the  bear ; 


step  in  1 


post  go  round. 


"  The  Monster's  T)roll  Enough  " 

Photogravure  from  painting  by  F.  Kirchbach 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  225 

My  inward  feelings  all  revolt. 

A  creature  such  as  thou  !  a,  dolt ! 

Pipi,  a  squirrel  able  nuts  to  crack  ! 

I  bristle  up  my  shaggy  back, 

Unused  a  slave  to  be. 

I'm  laughed  at  by  each  trim  and  upstart  tree 

To  scorn.     The  bowling  green  I  fly, 

With  neatly-mown  and  well-kept  grass ; 

The  box  makes  faces  as  I  pass,  — 
Into  the  darkest  thicket  hasten  I, 
Hoping  to  'scape  from  the  ring, 
Over  the  palings  to  spring ! 

Vainly  I  leap  and  climb ; 

I  feel  a  leaden  spell 

That  pinions  me  as  well, 
And  when  I'm  fully  wearied  out  in  time, 
I  lay  me  down  beside  some  mock-cascade. 

And  roll  myself  half  dead,  and  foam,  and  cry, 

And,  ah  !  no  Oreads  hear  my  sigh. 
Excepting  those  of  china  made  ! 

But,  ah,  with  sudden  power,  J 

In  all  my  members  Vjlissful  feelings  reign  !  ■'    ''  A 

'Tis  she  who  singeth  yonder  in  her  bower ! 
I  hear  that  darling,  darling  voice  again. 

The  air  is  warm,  and  teems  with  fragrance  clear, 

Sings  she  perchance  for  me  alone  to  hear  ? 
I  haste,  and  trample  down  the  shrubs  amain ; 

The  trees  make  way,  the  bushes  all  retreat, 

And  so  —  the  beast  is  lying  at  her  feet. 

She  looks  at  him  :  "  The  monster's  droll  enough ! 

He's,  for  a  bear,  too  mild. 

Yet,  for  a  dog,  too  wild, 
So  shaggy,  clumsy,  rough  !  " 
Up  in  his  back  she  gently  strokes  her  foot ; 

He  thinks  himself  in  Paradise. 


226  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

What  feelings  through  his  seven  senses  shoot ! 

But  she  looks  on  with  careless  eyes. 
I  lick  her  soles,  and  kiss  her  shoes, 

As  gently  as  a  bear  well  may ; 
Softly  I  rise,  and  with  a  clever  ruse 

Leap  on  her  knee.  —  On  a  propitious  day 
She  suffers  it ;  my  ears  then  tickles  she, 

And  hits  me  a  hard  blow  in  wanton  play ; 
I  growl  with  new-born  ecstasy ; 
Then  speaks  she  in  a  sweet  vain  jest,  I  wot; 
"  Allo7is  tout  doux  !  eh  !  la  menotte  ! 
Et  faitcs  serviteur 
Comme  wn  joli  seigneur." 
Thus  she  proceeds  with  sport  and  glee ; 

Hope  fills  the  oft-deluded  beast ; 
Yet  if  one  moment  he  would  lazy  be, 

Her  fondness  all  at  once  hath  ceased. 

She  doth  a  flask  of  balsam  fire  possess. 

Sweeter  than  honey  bees  can  make, 

One  drop  of  which  she'll  on  her  finger  take, 
Wlien  softened  by  his  love  and  faithfulness. 

Wherewith  her  monster's  raging  thirst  to  slake ; 
Then  leaves  me  to  myself,  and  flies  at  last, 
And  I,  unbound,  yet  prisoned  fast 
By  magic,  follow  in  her  train, 
Seek  for  her,  tremble,  fly  again. 
The  hapless  creature  thus  tormenteth  she, 

Regardless  of  his  pleasure  or  his  woe ; 
Ha !  oft  half-opened  does  she  leave  the  door  for  me, 

And  sideways  looks  to  learn  if  I  will  fly  or  no ; 
And  I  —  0  gods !  your  hands  alone 
Can  end  the  spell  that's  o'er  me  thrown ; 
Free  me,  and  gratitude  my  heart  will  fill ; 

And  yet  from  heaven  ye  send  me  down  no  aid  — 

Not  ({uite  in  vain  doth  life  my  limbs  pervade : 
I  feel  it !     Strength  is  left  me  still. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  227 


TO  CHAELOTTE. 


Midst  the  noise  of  merriment  and  glee, 
'Midst  full  many  a  sorrow,  many  a  care, 

Charlotte,  I  remember,  ive  remember  thee, 
How  at  evening's  hour  so  fair. 

Thou  a  kindly  hand  didst  reach  us, 
When  thou,  in  some  happy  place 
Where  more  fair  is  Nature's  face, 
Many  a  hghtly-hidden  trace 

Of  a  spirit  loved  didst  teach  us. 

Well  'tis  that  thy  worth  I  rightly  knew,  — 
That  I,  in  the  hour  when  first  we  met, 
While  the  first  impression  filled  me  yet, 

Called  thee  then  a  girl  both  good  and  true. 


Reared  in  silence,  calmly,  knowing  nought. 

On  the  world  we  suddenly  are  thrown  ; 
Hundred  thousand  billows  round  us  sport ; 

All  things  charm  us  —  many  please  alone. 
Many  gi-ieve  us,  and  as  hour  on  hour  is  stealing, 

To  and  fro  our  restless  natures  sway ; 
First  we  feel,  and  then  we  find  each  feeling 

By  the  changeful  world-stream  borne  away. 

W^ell  I  know,  we  oft  within  us  find 

Many  a  hope  and  many  a  smart. 
Charlotte,  who  can  know  our  mind  ? 

Charlotte,  who  can  know  our  heart  ? 
Ah !  'twould  fain  be  understood,  'twould  fain  o'erflow 

In  some  creature's  fellow-feelings  blest. 
And,  with  trust,  in  twofold  measure  know 

All  the  grief  and  joy  in  Nature's  breast. 


228  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Then  thine  eye  is  oft  around  thee  cast, 

But  in  vain,  for  all  seems  closed  for  ever ; 
Thus  the  fairest  part  of  Hfe  is  madly  passed 

Free  from  storm,  but  resting  never ; 
To  thy  sorrow  thou'rt  to-day  repelled 

By  what  yesterday  obeyed  thee. 
Can  that  world  by  thee  be  worthy  held 

Which  so  oft  betrayed  thee  ? 

Which  'mid  all  thy  pleasures  and  thy  pains. 

Lived  in  selfish,  unconcerned  repose  ? 
See,  the  soul  its  secret  cells  regains. 

And  the  heart  —  makes  haste  to  close. 
Thus  found  I  thee,  and  gladly  went  to  meet  thee ; 

"  She's  worthy  of  all  love !  "  I  cried, 
And  prayed  that  Heaven  with  purest  bliss  might  greet 
thee, 
Which  in  thy  friend  it  richly  hath  supplied. 


MOKNING  LAMENT. 

Oh,  thou  cruel,  deadly-lovely  maiden, 
Tell  me  what  great  sin  have  I  committed, 
That  thou  keepest  me  to  the  rack  thus  fastened, 
That  thou  hast  thy  solemn  promise  broken  ? 

'Twas  but  yestere'en  that  thou  with  fondness 
Pressed  my  hand,  and  these  sweet  accents  nmrmured  : 
"Yes,  I'll  come,  I'll  come  when   morn   approacheth, 
Come,  my  friend,  full  surely  to  thy  chamber." 
On  the  latch  I  left  my  doors,  unfastened, 
Having  first  with  en  re  tried  all  the  hinges, 
And  rejoiced  right  well  to  find  they  creaked  not. 

What  a  night  of  expectation  passed  I ! 

For  I  watched,  and  every  chime  I  numbered; 


POEMS   OF  GOETHE  229 

If  perchance  I  slept  a  few  short  moments, 
Still  my  heart  remained  awake  for  ever, 
And  awoke  me  from  my  gentle  slumbers. 

Yes,  then  blessed  I  night's  o'erhanging  darkness, 

That  so  calmly  covered  all  things  round  me ; 

I  enjoyed  the  universal  silence. 

While  I  listened  ever  in  the  silence, 

If  perchance  the  slightest  sounds  were  stirring. 

"  Had  she  only  thouglits,  my  thoughts  resembling, 
Had  she  only  feelings,  like  7ny  feelings, 
She  would  not  aw^ait  the  dawn  of  morning, 
But,  ere  this,  would  surely  have  been  with  me." 

Skipped  a  kitten  on  the  floor  above  me, 
Scratched  a  mouse  a  panel  in  the  corner, 
Was  there  in  the  house  the  shghtest  motion, 
Ever  hoped  I  that  I  heard  thy  footstep, 
Ever  thought  I  that  I  heard  thee  coming. 

And  so  lay  I  long,  and  ever  longer. 

And  already  was  the  dayliglit  dawning, 

And  both  here  and  there  w^ere  signs  of  movement. 

"  Is  it  yon  door  ?     Were  it  my  door  only  !  " 
In  my  bed  I  leaned  upon  my  elbow, 
Looking  toward  the  door,  now  half-apparent, 
If  perchance  it  might  not  be  in  motion. 
Both  the  wings  upon  tlie  latch  continued. 
On  the  quiet  hinges  calmly  haugiug. 

And  the  day  grew  bright  and  brighter  ever ; 
And  I  heard  my  neighbour's  door  unbolted. 
As  he  went  to  earn  his  daily  wages, 
And  ere  long  I  heard  the  wagons  rumbling. 
And  the  city  gates  were  also  opened. 


230  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

While  the  market-place,  in  every  comer, 
Teemed  with  life  uud  bustle  aud  confusion. 

In  the  house  was  going  now  and  coming 

Up  and  down  the  stairs,  and  doors  were  creaking 

Backwards  now,  now  forwards,  —  footsteps  clattered, 

Yet,  as  though  it  were  a  thing  all-hviug, 

From  my  cherished  hope  1  could  not  tear  me. 

When  at  length  the  sun,  in  hated  splendour, 
Fell  upon  my  walls,  upon  my  windows. 
Up  I  sprang,  and  hastened  to  the  garden, 
There  to  blend  my  breath,  so  hot  and  yearning, 
With  the  cool  refreshing  morning  breezes, 
And,  it  might  be,  even  there  to  meet  thee : 
But  I  cannot  find  thee  in  the  arbour, 
Or  the  avenue  of  lofty  lindens. 


THE   VISIT. 

To  -  DAY  I  thought  to  steal  upon  my  darhng. 
But  the  door  was  closed  of  her  apartments. 
Of  a  key,  however,  I  am  master ; 
Noislessly  I  glide  within  the  doorway. 

In  the  salon  found  I  not  the  maiden. 

Found  the  maiden  not  within  the  parlour. 

But  on  tiptoe  entering  her  chamber. 

There  I  find  her,  sunk  in  graceful  slumber. 

In  her  robes,  upon  the  sofa  lying. 

At  her  work  had  slumber  overtaken  her ; 

And  the  netting,  with  the  needles,  rested 

'Twixt  the  fair  hands  that  hung  crosswise  folded. 

Silently  I  sate  me  down  beside  her. 

And  awhile  I  mused  if  I  should  wake  her. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  231 

Awed  ine  then  the  peace  so  sweet  and  holy, 
Which  upon  her  drooping  eyeUds  rested : 
On  her  lips  abode  a  trustful  quiet, 
Beauty  on  her  cheeks,  the  home  of  beauty  ; 
And  the  tranquil  movement  of  her  bosom 
Showed  how  innocent  the  heart  that  moved  it. 
All  her  limbs,  so  gracefully  reposing, 
Lay  relaxed  by  sleep's  delicious  balsam : 
There  I  sat  enraptured,  and  the  vision 
Curbed  the  impulse  I  had  felt  to  wake  her, 
With  a  spell  that  close  and  closer  bound  me. 

"  0  my  love,"  I  murmured,  "  and  can  slumber, 
Which  unmasks  whate'er  is  false  and  formal. 
Can  he  injure  thee  not,  nor  unravel 
Aught  to  shake  thy  lover's  fondest  fancy  ? 

"  Thy  dear  eyes  are  closed,  those  eyes  so  tender  — 
Eyes,  which  only  lifted  are  enchantment, 
Those  sweet  lips,  oh,  lips  so  sweet  they  stir  not. 
Stir  not  nor  for  speech,  nor  yet  for  kisses ! 
All  unloosened  is  the  magic  cincture 
Of  thine  arms,  that  otherwhiles  enclasp  me. 
And  the  hand,  the  dainty  sweet  companion 
Of  all  best  endearments,  void  of  motion. 
Were  my  thoughts  of  thee  delusion  merely  — 
Were  my  love  for  thee  but  self-deception, 
I  must  now  discern  the  truth,  when  Amor 
Stands  beside  me  thus,  with  eyes  unbaudaged." 


Long  while  thus  I  sat,  with  heart  elated, 
Thinking  of  her  worth  and  my  devotion ; 
Sleeping,  she  with  rapture  so  had  filled  me. 
That  I  did  not  venture  to  awake  her. 

Placing  softly  down  upon  her  table 

Two  pomegranates  and  two  half-blown  rosebuds, 


232  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Gently,  gently,  glide  I  from  the  chamber. 
When  she  opes  her  eyes,  my  own  heart's  darhng, 
And  they  rest  upon  my  gift,  with  wonder 
Will  she  muse,  how  such  fine  token  ever 
There  should  be,  and  yet  her  door  unopened. 

When  to-night  again  I  see  my  angel, 

Oh,  how  she  will  joy,  and  twofold  pay  me, 

For  this  tribute  of  my  heart's  devotion  ! 


THE   MUSAGETES. 

Often  in  the  winter  midnight. 
Prayed  I  to  the  blessed  Muses  — 
"  Here  is  not  the  red  of  morning. 
Tardy  is  the  day  in  breaking ; 
Light  for  me,  ye  blessed  Muses, 
Light  the  lamp  of  inspiration. 
That  its  mellow  ray  may  serve  me, 
'Stead  of  Phoebus  and  Aurora  ! " 
But  they  left  me  to  my  slumber, 
Dull,  and  spiritless,  and  torpid ; 
And  the  morning's  lazy  leisure 
Ushered  in  a  useless  day. 

Then  when  spring  began  to  kindle. 
Thus  the  nightingales  I  conjured  — 
"  Sweetest  nightingales,  oh,  warble. 
Warble  early  at  my  window ! 
Wake  me  from  the  heavy  slumber 
That  in  magic  fetters  holds  me  ! " 
And  the  love-o'erflovdng  singers 
Sang  all  night  around  my  window 
All  their  rarest  melodies  ; 
Kept  awake  the  soul  within  me ; 


POEA\S  OF  GOETHE  233 

Gave  me  trances,  aspirations, 
Glimpses  of  divine  emotion, 
Soothing,  melting,  undefined. 
So  the  night  passed  lightly  over, 
And  Aurora  found  me  sleeping, 
Scarce  I  wakened  with  the  sun. 

Lastly,  came  the  glorious  summer ; 
What  aroused  me  then  from  dreaming, 
At  the  earliest  dawn  of  morning  ? 
'Twas  the  buzzing  of  the  flies  ! 
They  are  touched  by  no  compassion ; 
Kuthlessly  they  do  their  duty. 
Though  the  half-awakened  sleeper 
Greets  them  with  a  malediction. 
Unabashed  their  clan  they  summon, 
And  the  humming  swarm  is  vocal, 
And  they  banish  from  my  eyelids 
All  the  luxury  of  sleep. 

Straightway  start  I  from  my  pillow, 
Leave  the  close-beleaguered  chamber, 
Sally  out  to  seek  the  Muses, 
In  the  haunts  to  them  are  dearest. 
And  I  find  them  'neath  the  beeches, 
Waiting  for  me,  sometimes  chiding, 
For  my  over-long  delay. 
Thus  I  owe  you,  libelled  insects, 
Thanks  for  many  hours  of  rapture. 
Dullards  may  indeed  abuse  you, 
Since  you  wake  them  to  sensation ; 
But  the  poet  ought  to  prize  you. 
And  I  thank  you,  as  a  poet, 
Ranking  you,  beyond  all  others. 
As  the  ushers  to  the  Muse. 


234  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE   WATER -MAN. 

[This  ballad  cannot  be  claimed  as  one  of  Goethe's  original  com- 
positions, it  being  a  very  close  translation  of  an  old  Danish 
ballad,  entitled,  "The  Mer-uian,  and  Marstig's  daughter."  As, 
however,  it  appears  in  all  the  collections,  and  has  often  been 
quoted  as  a  favourable  specimen  of  Goethe's  skill  in  assuming  the 
simple  style  of  the  popular  Northern  ballads,  we  have  deemed 
it  advisable  to  give  a  version.] 

"  Oh,  mother  !  rede  me  well,  I  pray  ; 
How  shall  I  woo  me  yon  winsome  May  ? " 

She  has  built  him  a  horse  of  the  water  clear, 
The  saddle  and  bridle  of  sea-sand  were. 


He  has  donned  the  garb  of  a  knight  so  gay, 
And  to  Mary's  Kirk  he  has  ridden  away. 

He  tied  his  steed  to  the  chancel  door, 

And  he  stepped  round  the  Kirk  three  times  and  four. 

He  has  boune  him  into  the  Kirk,  and  all 
Drew  near  to  gaze  on  him,  great  and  small. 

The  priest  he  was  standing  in  the  quire ;  — 

"  What  gay  young  gallant  comes  branking  here  ? " 

The  winsome  maid,  to  herself  said  she, 

"  Oh,  were  that  gay  young  gallant  for  me  I " 

He  stepped  o'er  one  stool,  he  stepped  o'er  two ; 
"  Oh,  maiden,  plight  me  thine  oath  so  true ! " 

He  stepped  o'er  three  stools,  he  stepped  o'er  four ; 
"  Wilt  be  mine,  sweet  May,  for  evermore  ? " 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  235 

She  gave  him  her  hand  of  the  drifted  snow  — 
"  Here  hast  thou  my  troth,  and  with  thee  I'll  go." 

They  went  from  the  Kirk  with  the  bridal  train, 
They  danced  in  glee  and  they  danced  full  fain ; 

They  danced  them  down  to  the  salt-sea  strand, 
And  they  left  them  standing  there,  hand  in  hand. 

"  Now  wait  thee,  love,  with  my  steed  so  free, 
And  the  bonniest  bark  I'll  bring  for  thee." 

And  when  they  passed  to  the  white,  white  sand. 
The  ships  came  saihng  on  to  the  land ; 

But  when  they  were  out  in  the  midst  of  the  sound, 
Down  went  they  all  in  the  deep  profound ! 

Long,  long  on  the  shore,  when  the  winds  were  high, 
They  heard  from  the  waters  the  maiden's  cry. 

I  rede  ye,  damsels,  as  best  I  can  — 
Tread  not  the  dance  with  the  Water-Man ! 


PSYCHE. 

The  Muses,  maiden  sisters,  chose 
To  teach  poor  Psyche  arts  poetic ; 
But,  spite  of  all  their  rules  aesthetic. 
She  never  could  emerge  from  prose. 

No  dulcet  sounds  escaped  her  lyre. 
E'en  when  the  summer  nights  were  nigh 
Till  Cupid  came,  with  glance  of  fire, 
And  taught  her  all  the  mystery. 


236  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


IN   ABSENCE. 

And  shall  I  then  regain  thee  never  ? 

My  beautiful !     And  art  thou  flown  ? 
Still  in  my  ears  resounds  for  ever 

Thy  every  word,  thy  every  tone. 

As  through  the  air,  when  morn  is  springing, 
The  wanderer  peers  in  vain,  to  trace 

The  lark,  that  o'er  him  high  is  singing, 
Hid  in  the  azure  depth  of  space ; 

So,  love,  through  field  and  forest  lonely 
My  sad  eyes  roam  in  quest  of  thee ; 

My  songs  are  tuned  to  thee,  thee  only ; 
Oh,  come,  my  own  love,  back  to  me ! 


THE   MAGIC   NET. 

Do  I  see  a  contest  yonder  ? 
See  I  miracles  or  pastimes  ? 
Beauteous  urchins,  five  in  number, 
'Gainst  five  sisters  fair  contending, — 
Measured  is  the  time  they're  beating  — 
At  a  bright  enchantress'  bidding. 
Glittering  spears  by  some  are  wielded, 
Threads  are  others  nimbly  twining. 
So  that  in  their  snares,  the  weapons. 
One  would  think,  must  needs  be  captured. 
Soon,  in  truth,  the  spears  are  prisoned : 
Yet  they,  in  the  gentle  war-dance. 
One  by  one  escape  their  fetters 
In  the  row  of  loops  so  tender. 
That  make  haste  to  seize  a  free  one 
Soon  as  they  release  a  captive. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  237 

So  with  contests,  strivings,  triumphs, 
Flying  now,  and  now  returning, 
Is  an  artful  net  soon  woven, 
In  its  whiteness  like  the  snowflakes, 
That,  from  hght  amid  the  darkness, 
Draw  their  streaky  lines  so  varied. 
As  e'en  colours  scarce  can  draw  them. 

Who  shall  now  receive  that  garment 
Far  beyond  all  others  wished-for  ? 
Whom  our  much-loved  mistress  favour 
As  her  own  acknowledged  servant  ? 
I  am  blest  by  kindly  Fortune's 
Tokens  true,  in  silence  prayed  for ! 
And  I  feel  myself  held  captive, 
To  her  service  now  devoted. 

Yet,  e'en  while  I,  thus  enraptured, 
Thus  adorned,  am  proudly  wandering^ 
See  !  yon  wantons  are  entwining. 
Void  of  strife  with  secret  ardour, 
Other  nets,  each  tine  and  finer, 
Threads  of  twilight  interweaving, 
Moonbeams  sweet,  night-violets'  balsam. 

Ere  the  net  is  noticed  by  us, 
Is  a  happier  one  imprisoned, 
Whom  we,  one  and  all,  together 
Greet  with  envy  and  with  blessings. 


THE   CHUECH   WINDOW. 

The  minster  window,  richly  glowing. 
With  many  a  gorgeous  stain  and  dye. 
Itself  a  parable,  is  showing. 
The  might,  the  power  of  Poesy. 


238  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Look  on  it  from  the  outer  square, 
And  it  is  only  dark  and  dreary  ; 
Yon  blockhead  always  views  it  there, 
And  swears  its  aspect  makes  him  weary. 


But  enter  once  the  holy  portal  — 
What  splendour  bursts  upon  the  eye  ! 
There  symbols,  deeds,  and  forms  immortal. 
Are  blazing  forth  in  majesty. 

Be  thankful  you,  who  have  the  gift 
To  read  and  feel  each  sacred  story  ; 
And  oh,  be  reverent  when  you  hft 
Your  eyes  to  look  on  heavenly  glory  ! 


THE   CAVALIER'S    CHOICE. 

[This  lively  little  ballad  occurs  in  one  of  Goethe's  operas,  very 
charmina;  compositions,  which  probably  are  less  read  than  they  de- 
serve. It  is  not  altof^ether  original,  being  evidently  founded  on  a 
popular  Scottish  ditty,  called  indiscriminately  "  Captain  Wedder- 
burn's  Courtship,"  or  the  "Laird  of  Roslin's  Daughter,"  in 
which  precisely  the  same  questions  are  propounded  and  answered. 
Truth  compels  us  to  say  that,  in  point  of  merit,  the  superiority 
lies  with  the  Scottish  ballad.  This  being  a  case  of  disputed 
property,  or  rather  commonty,  the  translator  has  allowed  himself 
more  license  in  rendering  than  has  been  used  in  any  other  instance 
in  the  present  collection.] 

It  was  a  gallant  cavalier 

Of  honour  and  renown. 
And  all  to  seek  a  ladye-love 

He  rode  from  town  to  town. 
Till  at  a  widow-woman's  door 

He  drew  the  rein  so  free ; 
For  at  her  side  the  knight  espied 

Her  comely  daughters  three. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  239 

Well  might  he  gaze  upon  them, 

For  they  were  fair  and  tall ; 
Ye  never  have  seen  fairer  maids. 

In  bower  nor  yet  in  halL 
Small  marvel  if  the  gallant's  heart 

Beat  quicker  in  his  breast ; 
'Twas  hard  to  choose,  and  hard  to  lose  — 

How  might  he  wale  the  best  ? 

"  Now,  maidens,  pretty  maidens  mine, 
Who'll  rede  me  riddles  three  ? 
And  she  who  answers  best  of  all 

Shall  be  mine  ovni  ladye ! " 
I  ween  they  blushed  as  maidens  do, 
Wlien  such  rare  words  they  hear  — 
"  Now  speak  thy  riddles  if  thou  wilt, 
Thou  gay  young  cavalier  ! " 


"  What's  longer  than  the  longest  path  ? 

First  tell  ye  that  to  me ; 
And  tell  me  what  is  deeper  yet. 

Than  is  the  deepest  sea  ? 
And  tell  me  what  is  louder  far, 

Than  is  the  loudest  horn  ? 
And  tell  me  what  hath  sharper  point, 

Than  e'en  the  sharpest  thorn  ? 

"  And  tell  me  what  is  greener  yet. 

Than  greenest  grass  on  hill  ? 
And  tell  me  what  is  crueller 

Than  a  wicked  woman's  will  ? " 
The  eldest  and  the  second  maid, 

They  mused  and  thought  awhile ; 
But  the  youngest  she  looked  upward. 

And  spoke  with  merry  smile. 


24©  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

"  Oh,  love  is  surely  longer  far, 

Than  the  longest  paths  that  be ; 
And  hell,  they  say,  is  deeper  yet, 

Thau  is  the  deepest  sea  ; 
The  roll  of  thunder  is  more  loud. 

Than  is  the  loudest  horn  ; 
And  hunger  it  is  worse  to  bear 

Than  sharpest  wound  of  thorn ; 

"  The  copper  sweat  is  greener  yet, 
Than  is  the  grass  on  hill ; 
And  the  foul  fiend  he  is  crueller 

Than  any  woman's  will." 
He  leapt  so  lightly  from  his  steed, 
He  took  her  by  the  hand ; 
"  Sweet  maid,  ray  riddles  thou  hast  read, 
Be  lady  of  my  land  ! " 

The  eldest  and  the  second  maid. 

They  pondered  and  were  dumb, 
And  there,  perchance,  are  waiting  yet 

Till  another  wooer  come. 
Then,  maidens,  take  this  warning  word, 

Be  neither  slow  nor  shy. 
But  always,  when  a  lover  speaks. 

Look  kindly,  and  reply. 


THE   ARTIST'S   MORNING    SONG. 

My  dwelling  is  the  Muses'  home  — 
What  matters  it  how  small  ? 

And  here,  within  my  heart,  is  set 
The  hohest  place  of  all. 

When,  wakened  by  the  early  sun, 
I  rise  from  slumbers  souud. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  241 

I  see  the  ever-living  forms 
In  radiance  gi-ouped  around. 

I  pray,  and  songs  of  thanks  and  praise 

Are  more  than  half  my  prayer. 
With  simple  notes  of  music,  tuned 

To  some  harmonious  air. 

I  bow  before  the  altar  then. 

And  read,  as  well  I  may, 
From  noble  Homer's  master-work, 

The  lesson  for  the  day. 

He  takes  me  to  the  furious  fight, 

Where  lion-warriors  throng ; 
Where  god-descended  heroes  whirl 

In  iron  cars  along. 

And  steeds  go  down  before  the  cars ; 

And  round  the  cumbered  wheel, 
Both  friend  and  foe  are  rolling  now, 

All  blood  from  head  to  heel ! 

Then  comes  the  champion  of  them  all, 

Felides'  friend  is  he, 
And  crashes  through  the  dense  array, 

Though  thousands  ten  they  be  ! 

And  ever  smites  that  fiery  sword 
Through  helmet,  shield,  and  mail, 

Until  he  falls  by  craft  divine. 
Where  might  could  not  prevail. 

Down  from  the  glorious  pile  he  rolls, 

Which  lie  himself  had  made, 
And  foemen  trample  on  the  limbs 

From  which  they  shrank  afraid. 


2  42  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Then  start  I  up,  with  arms  in  hand, 

What  arms  the  painter  bears ; 
And  soon  along  my  kindhng  wall 

The  fight  at  Troy  appears. 

On  !  on  again  !     The  wrath  is  here 

Of  battle  rolling  red ; 
Shield  strikes  on  shield,  and  sword  on  helm, 

And  dead  men  fall  on  dead  ! 

I  throng  into  the  inner  press, 

Where  loudest  rings  the  din  ; 
For  there,  around  their  hero's  corpse, 

Fight  on  his  furious  kin  ! 

A  rescue !  rescue  !  bear  him  hence 

Into  the  leaguer  near  ; 
Pour  balsam  in  his  glorious  wounds. 

And  weep  above  his  bier ! 

And  when  from  that  hot  trance  I  pass. 

Great  Love,  I  feel  thy  charm ; 
There  hangs  my  lady's  picture  near  — 

A  picture,  yet  so  warm ! 

How  fair  she  was,  reclining  there ; 

What  languish  in  her  look ! 
How  thrilled  her  glance  through  all  my  frame, 

The  very  pencil  shook. 

Her  eyes,  her  cheeks,  her  lovely  lips, 

Were  all  the  world  to  me ; 
And  in  my  breast  a  younger  life 

Rose  wild  and  wantonly. 

Oh !  turn  again,  and  bide  thee  here, 
Nor  fear  such  rude  alarms  ; 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  243 

How  could  I  think  of  battles  more 
With  thee  within  my  arms ! 

But  thou  shalt  lend  thy  perfect  form 

To  all  I  fashion  best ; 
I'll  paint  thee  first,  Madonna-wise, 

The  infant  on  thy  breast. 

I'll  paint  thee  as  a  startled  nymph. 

Myself  a  following  faun  ; 
And  still  pursue  thy  flying  feet 

Across  the  woodland  lawn. 

With  helm  on  head,  like  Mars,  I'll  lie 

By  thee,  the  Queen  of  Love, 
And  draw  a  net  around  us  twain, 

And  smile  on  heaven  above : 

And  every  god  that  comes  shall  pour 

His  blessings  on  thy  head, 
And  envious  eyes  be  far  away 

From  that  dear  marriage-bed ! 


THE   GOBLET. 

In  my  hands  I  held  a  brimming  goblet, 
Sculptured  quaintly  by  the  carver's  cunning, 
Quatied  with  eager  lips  the  strong  nepenthe. 
So  at  once  to  drown  all  care  and  anguish. 

Then  came  Amor  in  and  found  me  sitting, 
And  he  smiled  a  smile  of  serious  sweetness 
As  in  pity  of  my  foohsh  purpose. 

**  Friend,  I  know  a  vessel  nobler,  fairer. 
Worthy  all  your  soul  in  it  to  bury ; 


244  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Say  what  guerdon,  if  to  thee  I  give  it, 
Fill  it  for  thee  with  a  rarer  nectar  ? " 

Oh,  he  kept  his  promise,  and  how  truly ! 

Lida,  when  with  thy  dear  love  he  blessed  me  — 

Me,  that  for  thy  sake  had  long  been  pining. 

When  I  clasp  thy  beauties  to  my  bosom, 
And  from  thy  fond  lips,  so  fond  and  faithful, 
Drink  the  balm  of  long,  long  stored  affection. 
Thus  entranced,  I  commune  with  my  spirit. 

"  No ;  has  never  God,  save  Amor,  fashioned 
Vessel  such  as  this,  nor  e'er  possessed  it ! 
Forms  so  glorious  ne'er  were  shaped  by  Vulcan, 
With  his  finest  soul-enprompted  mallet. 

"  On  the  leaf-clad  mountains  may  Lyseus 
With  his  fauns,  the  hoariest,  the  sagest. 
Cull  the  clusters  of  the  daintiest  savour, 
Yea,  may  guide  the  mystic  fermentation. 
Draughts  Hke  this  not  all  his  skill  can  furnish ! " 


FROM   AN   ALBUM   OF    1604. 

Hope  provides  wings  to  thought,  and  love  to  hope. 
Rise  up  to  Cynthia,  love,  when  night  is  clearest, 
And  say,  that  as  high  on  her  figure  changeth. 
So,  upon  earth,  my  joy  decays  and  grows. 
And  whisper  in  her  ear  with  modest  softness. 
How  doubt  oft  hung  its  head,  and  truth  oft  wept. 
If  ye  are  therefore  by  the  loved  one  chided, 
And,  oh,  ye  thoughts,  distrustfully  inclined, 
Answer :  'tis  true  ye  change,  but  alter  not. 
As  she  remains  the  same,  yet  changeth  ever. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  245 

Doubt  may  invade  the  heart,  but  poisons  not. 
For  love  is  sv^^eeter,  by  suspicion  flavoured. 
If  it  with  anger  overcasts  the  eye, 
And  heaven's  bright  purity  perversely  blackens, 
Then  zephyr-sighs  straight  scare  the  clouds  away, 
And,  changed  to  tears,  dissolve  them  into  rain. 
Thought,  hope,  and  love  remain  there  as  before, 
Till  Cynthia  gleams  upon  me  as  of  old. 


TO    THE    GKASSHOPPEK. 

AFTER    ANACREON. 

[The  strong  resemblance  of  this  fine  poem  to  Cowley's  ode 
beariue:  the  same  name,  and  beginning,  "Happy  insect!  what 
can  be,"  will  be  at  once  seen.] 

Happy  art  thou,  darling  insect. 

Who  upon  the  trees'  tall  branches, 

By  a  modest  draught  inspired. 

Singing,  like  a  monarch  livest ! 

Thou  possessest  as  thy  portion 

All  that  on  the  plains  thou  seest, 

All  that  by  tlie  hours  is  brought  thee ; 

'Mongst  the  liusbandmen  thou  livest. 

As  a  friend,  uninjured  by  them. 

Thou  whom  mortals  love  to  honour. 

Herald  sweet  of  sweet  Spring's  advent ! 

Yes,  thou'rt  loved  by  all  the  Muses, 

Phoebus'  self,  too,  needs  must  love  thee ; 

They  their  silver  voices  gave  thee, 

Age  can  never  steal  upon  thee. 

Wise  and  gentle  friend  of  poets. 

Born  a  creature  fleshless,  bloodless. 

Though  Earth's  daughter,  free  from  suffering, 

To  the  gods  e'en  almost  equal. 


246  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

FROM  "  THE  SORROWS  OF  YOUNG  WERTHER" 

[Prefixed  to  the  second  edition.] 

Every  youth  for  love's  sweet  portion  sighs, 
Every  maiden  sighs  to  win  man's  love ; 

Why,  alas !  should  bitter  pain  arise 

From  the  noblest  passion  that  we  prove  ? 

Thou,  kind  soul,  bewailest,  lovest  him  well, 
From  disgrace  his  memory's  saved  by  thee ; 

Lo,  his  spirit  sighs  from  out  its  cell : 
Be  a  man,  noe  seek  to  follow  me. 


Tender  thoughts  and  sweet  recollection, 
That  is  life  in  its  greatest  perfection. 


TRILOGY    OF    PASSION. 

I.    TO    WERTHER. 

[This  poem,  written  at  the  age  of  seventy-five,  was  appended 
to  an  edition  of  "  Werther,'"  published  at  that  time.] 

Once  more,  then,  much-wept  shadow,  thou  dost  dare 

Boldly  to  face  the  day's  clear  light. 
To  meet  me  on  fresh  blooming  meadows  fair, 

And  dost  not  tremble  at  my  sight. 
Those  happy  times  appear  returned  once  more. 

When  on  one  field  we  quaffed  refreshing  dew, 
And,  when  the  day's  unwelcome  toil  were  o'er. 

The  farewell  sunbeams  blessed  our  ravished  view ; 
Fate  bade  thee  go,  —  to  linger  here  was  mine,  — 
Going  the  first,  the  smaller  loss  was  thine. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  247 

The  life  of  man  appears  a  glorious  fate : 

The  day  how  lovely  and  the  night  how  great ! 

And  we  'mid  Paradise-like  raptures  placed, 

The  sun's  bright  glory  scarce  have  learned  to  taste, 

When  strange  contending  feelings  dimly  cover, 

Now  us,  and  now  the  forms  that  round  us  hover ; 

One's  feelings  by  no  other  are  supplied, 

'Tis  dark  without,  if  all  is  bright  inside ; 

An  outward  brightness  veils  my  saddened  mood, 

When  Fortune  smiles,  —  how  seldom  understood  ! 

Now  think  we  that  we  know  her,  and  with  might 

A  woman's  beauteous  form  instils  delight ; 

The  youth,  as  glad  as  in  his  infancy. 

The  spring-time  treads,  as  though  the  spring  were  he. 

Kavished,  amazed,  he  asks,  how  this  is  done  ? 

He  looks  around,  the  world  appears  his  own. 

With  careless  speed  he  wanders  on  through  space, 

Nor  walls,  nor  palaces  can  check  liis  race ; 

As  some  gay  flight  of  birds  round  tree-tops  plays, 

So  'tis  with  him  who  round  his  mistress  strays ; 

He  seeks  from  ^tlier,  which  he'd  leave  behind  him. 

The  faithful  look  that  fondly  serves  to  bind  him. 

Yet  first  too  early  warned,  and  then  too  late. 

He  feels  his  flight  restrained,  is  captured  straight ; 

To  meet  again  is  sweet,  to  part  is  sad, 

Again  to  meet  again  is  still  more  glad. 

And  years  in  one  short  moment  are  enshrined ; 

But,  oh,  the  harsh  farewell  is  hid  behind  ! 

Thou  smilest,  friend,  with  fitting  thoughts  inspired ; 
By  a  dread  parting  was  thy  fame  acquired ; 
Thy  mournful  destiny  we  sorrowed  o'er. 
For  weal  and  woe  thou  left'st  us  evermore, 
And  then  again  the  passions'  wavering  force 
Drew  us  along  in  labyrinthine  course ; 


24S  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Aud  we,  consumed  by  constant  misery, 
At  length  must  part  —  and  parting  is  to  die  ! 
How  moving  is  it,  when  the  minstrel  sings. 
To  'scape  the  death  that  separation  brings  ! 
Oh,  grant,  some  god,  to  one  who  suffers  so, 
To  tell,  half-guilty,  his  sad  tale  of  woe ! 

II.    ELEGY. 

When  man  had  ceased  to  utter  his  lament, 
A  god  then  let  me  tell  my  tale  of  sorrow. 

What  hope  of  once  more  meeting  is  there  now 
In  the  still-closed  blossoms  of  this  day  ? 

Both  heaven  aud  hell  thrown  open  seest  thou ; 
What  wavering  thoughts  within  the  bosom  play ! 

No  longer  doubt !     Descending  from  the  sky, 

She  hfts  thee  in  her  arms  to  realms  on  high. 

And  thus  thou  into  Paradise  wert  brought, 
As  worthy  of  a  pure  and  endless  life ; 

Nothing  was  left,  no  wish,  no  hope,  no  thought. 
Here  was  the  boundary  of  thine  inmost  strife : 

And  seeing  one  so  fair,  so  glorified. 

The  fount  of  yearning  tears  was  straightway  dried. 

No  motion  stirred  the  day's  revolving  wheel, 
In  their  own  front  the  minutes  seemed  to  go ; 

The  evening  kiss,  a  true  and  binding  seal, 

Ne'er  changing  till  the  morrow's  sunlight  glow. 

The  hours  resembled  sisters  as  they  went. 

Yet  each  one  from  another  different. 

The  last  hour's  kiss,  so  sadly  sweet,  effaced 
A  beauteous  network  of  entwining  love. 

Now  on  the  threshold  pause  the  feet,  now  haste, 
As  though  a  flaming  cherub  bade  them  move ; 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  249 

The  unwilling  eye  the  dark  road  wanders  o'er 
Backward  it  looks,  but  closed  it  sees  the  door. 

And  now  within  itself  is  closed  this  breast, 
As  though  it  ne'er  were  open,  and  as  though, 

Vying  with  ev'ry  star,  no  moments  blest 
Had,  in  its  presence,  felt  a  kindling  glow ; 

Sadness,  reproach,  repentance,  weight  of  care, 

Hang  heavy  on  it  in  the  sultry  air. 

Is  not  the  world  still  left  ?     The  rocky  steeps. 
Are  they  with  holy  shades  no  longer  crowned  ? 

Grows  not  the  harvest  ripe  ?     No  longer  creeps 
The  espalier  by  the  stream,  —  the  copse  around  ? 

Doth  not  the  wondrous  arch  of  heaven  still  rise. 

Now  rich  in  shape,  now  shapeless  to  the  eyes  ? 

As,  seraph-like,  from  out  the  dark  clouds'  chorus, 
With  softness  woven,  graceful,  light,  and  fair, 

Eesembling  Her,  in  the  blue  aether  o'er  us, 
A  slender  figure  hovers  in  the  air,  — 

Thus  didst  thou  see  her  joyously  advance, 

The  fairest  of  the  fairest  in  the  dance. 

Yet  but  a  moment  dost  thou  boldly  dare 

To  clasp  an  airy  form  instead  of  hers ; 
Back  to  thine  heart !  thou'lt  find  it  better  there, 

For  there  in  changeful  guise  her  image  stirs  ; 
What  erst  was  one,  to  many  turneth  fast, 
In  thousand  forms,  each  dearer  than  the  last. 

As  at  the  door,  on  meetiog,  lingered  she, 

And  step  by  step  my  faithful  ardour  blessed. 

For  the  last  kiss  herself  entreated  me, 

And  on  ray  lips  the  last,  last  kiss  impressed,  — 

Thus  clearly  traced,  the  loved  one's  form  we  view, 

With  flames  engraven  on  a  heart  so  true,  — 


250  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

A  heart  that,  firm  as  some  embattled  tower, 

Itself  for  her,  her  in  itself  reveres, 
For  her  rejoices  in  its  lasting  power. 

Conscious  alone,  when  she  herself  appears ; 
Feels  itself  freer  in  so  sweet  a  thrall. 
And  only  beats  to  give  her  thanks  in  all. 

The  power  of  loving,  and  all  yearning  sighs 
For  love  responsive  were  effaced  and  drowned  ; 

While  longing  hope  for  joyous  enterprise 

Was  formed,  and  rapid  action  straightway  found 

If  love  can  e'er  a  loving  one  inspire. 

Most  lovingly  it  gave  me  now  its  fire ; 

And  'twas  through  her  !  —  an  inward  sorrow  lay 

On  soul  and  body,  heavily  oppressed ; 
To  mournful  phantoms  was  my  sight  a  prey, 

In  the  drear  void  of  a  sad  tortured  breast ; 
Now  on  the  well-known  threshold  Hope  hath  smiled, 
Herself  appeareth  in  the  sunlight  mild. 

Unto  the  peace  of  God,  which,  as  we  read, 
Blesseth  us  more  than  reason  e'er  hath  done, 

Love's  happy  peace  would  I  compare  indeed. 
When  in  the  presence  of  the  dearest  one. 

There  rests  the  heart,  and  there  the  sweetest  thought, 

The  thought  of  being  hers  is  checked  by  nought. 

In  the  pure  bosom  doth  a  yearning  float, 

Unto  a  holier,  purer,  unknown  Being 
Its  grateful  aspirations  to  devote. 

The  Ever-Nameless  then  unriddled  seeing; 
We  call  it :  piety  !  —  such  blest  delight 
I  feel  a  share  in,  when  before  her  sight. 

Before  her  sight,  as  'neath  the  sun's  hot  ray, 

Before  her  breath,  as  'neath  the  spring's  soft  wind, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  251 

In  its  deep  wintry  cavern  melts  away 

Self-love,  so  long  in  icy  chains  confined  ; 
No  selfishness  and  no  self-will  are  nigh, 
For  at  her  advent  they  were  forced  to  fly. 

It  seems  as  though  she  said :  "  As  hours  pass  by 
They  spread  before  us  life  with  kindly  plan ; 

Small  knowledge  did  the  yesterday  supply. 
To  know  the  morrow  is  concealed  from  man ; 

And  if  the  thought  of  evening  made  me  start. 

The  sun  at  setting  gladdened  straight  my  heart. 

"  Act,  then,  as  I,  and  look,  with  joyous  mind. 
The  moment  in  the  face  ;  nor  linger  thou  ! 

Meet  it  with  speed,  so  fraught  with  life,  so  kind 
In  action,  and  in  love  so  radiant  now ; 

Let  all  things  be  where  thou  art,  childlike  ever, 

Thus  thou'lt  be  all,  thus  thou'lt  be  vanquished  never." 

Thou  speakest  well,  methought,  for  as  thy  guide 

The  moment's  favour  did  a  god  assign, 
And  each  one  feels  himself,  when  by  thy  side, 

Fate's  favourite  in  a  moment  so  divine  ; 
I  tremble  at  thy  look  that  bids  me  go, 
Why  should  I  care  such  wisdom  vast  to  know  ? 

Now  am  I  far !     And  what  would  best  befit 
The  present  minute  ?     I  could  scarcely  tell ; 

Full  many  a  rich  possession  offers  it. 

These  but  offend,  and  I  would  fain  repel. 

Yearnings  unquenchable  still  drive  me  on. 

All  counsel,  save  unbounded  tears,  is  gone. 

Flow  on,  flow  on  in  never-ceasing  course. 
Yet  may  ye  never  quench  my  inward  fire ! 

Within  my  bosom  heaves  a  mighty  force, 

Where  death  and  life  contend  in  combat  dire. 


252  POEMS   OF  GOETHE 

Medicines  may  serve  the  body's  pangs  to  still ; 
Nought  but  the  spirit  fails  in  strength  of  will,  — 

Fails  in  conception  ;  wherefore  fails  it  so  ? 

A  thousand  times  her  image  it  portrays ; 
Enchanting  now,  and  now  compelled  to  go, 

Now  indistinct,  now  clothed  in  purest  rays ! 
How  could  the  smallest  comfort  here  be  flowing  ? 
The  ebb  and  flood,  the  coming  and  the  going ! 


Leave  me  here  now,  my  life's  companions  true  ! 

Leave  me  alone  on  rock,  in  moor  and  heath ; 
But  courage !  open  lies  the  world  to  you. 

The  glorious  heavens  above,  the  earth  beneath ; 
Observe,  investigate,  with  searching  eyes, 
And  nature  will  disclose  her  mysteries. 

To  me  is  all,  I  to  myself  am  lost, 

Who  the  immortals'  favourite  erst  was  thought ; 
They,  tempting,  sent  Pandoras  to  my  cost, 

So  rich  in  wealth,  with  danger  far  more  fraught ; 
They  urged  me  to  those  lips,  with  rapture  crowned. 
Deserted  me,  and  hurled  me  to  the  ground. 


III.    ATONEMENT. 

[Composed,  when  seventy-four  years  old,   for  a  Polish  lady, 
who  excelled  in  playing  on  the  pianoforte.] 

Passion  brings  reason,  —  who  can  pacify 

An  anguished  heart  whose  loss  hath  been  so  great  ? 

Where  are  the  hours  that  fled  so  swiftly  by  ? 
In  vain  the  fairest  thou  didst  gain  from  Fate ; 

Sad  is  the  soul,  confused  the  enterprise ; 

The  glorious  world,  how  on  the  sense  it  dies  ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  253 

In  million  tones  entwined  for  evermore 
Music  with  angel-pinions  hovers  there, 

To  pierce  man's  being  to  its  inmost  core, 
Eternal  beauty  as  its  fruit  to  bear ; 

The  eye  grows  moist,  in  yearnings  blest  reveres 

The  godlike  worth  of  music  as  of  tears. 

And  so  the  lightened  heart  soon  learns  to  see 
That  it  still  lives,  and  beats,  and  ought  to  beat, 

Offering  itself  with  joy  and  wilhngly, 
In  grateful  payment  for  a  gift  so  sweet. 

And  then  was  felt,  —  oh,  may  it  constant  prove  !  — 

The  twofold  bhss  of  music  and  of  love. 


The  remembrance  of  the  Good 
Keep  us  ever  glad  in  mood. 

The  remembrance  of  the  Fair 
Makes  a  mortal  rapture  share, 

The  remembrance  of  one's  Love 
Blest  is,  if  it  constant  prove. 

The  remembrance  of  the  One 
Is  the  greatest  joy  that's  known. 


[Written  at  the  age  of  seventy-seven.] 

When  I  was  still  a  youthful  wight, 
So  full  of  enjoyment  and  merry. 

The  painters  used  to  assert,  in  spite. 

That  my  features  were  small  —  yes,  very  ; 

Yet  then  full  many  a  beauteous  child 

With  true  affection  upon  me  smiled. 


254  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Now  as  a  graybeard  I  sit  here  in  state, 
By  street  and  by  lane  held  in  awe,  sirs ; 

And  may  be  seen,  hke  old  Frederick  the  Great, 
On  pipebowls,  on  cups,  and  on  saucers. 

Yet  the  beauteous  maidens,  they  keep  afar ; 

Oh,  vision  of  youth  !     Oh,  golden  star ! 


FOE   EVER 

The  happiness  that  man,  whilst  prisoned  here. 
Is  wont  with  heavenly  rapture  to  compare,  — 

The  harmony  of  Truth,  from  wavering  clear,  — 
Of  Friendship  that  is  free  from  doubting  care, — 

The  light  which  in  stray  thoughts  alone  can  cheer 
The  wise,  —  the  bard  alone  in  visions  fair,  — 

In  my  best  hours  I  found  in  her  all  this, 

And  made  mine  own,  to  mine  exceeding  bHss. 


LINES   ON   SEEING   SCHILLER'S    SKULL. 

[This  curious  imitation  of  the   ternary  metre   of   Dante  was 
written  at  the  age  of  seventy -seven.] 

Within  a  gloomy  charnel-house  one  day 

I  viewed  the  countless  skulls,  so  strangely  mated. 
And  of  old  times  I  thought  that  now  were  gray. 

Close  packed  they  stand  that  once  so  fiercely  hated. 
And  hardy  bones  that  to  the  death  contended 

Are  lying  crossed,  —  to  lie  for  ever,  fated. 
What  held  those  crooked  shoulder-blades  suspended  ? 

No  one  now  asks ;  and  limbs  with  vigour  fired. 
The  hand,  the  foot  —  their  use  in  life  is  ended. 

Vainly  ye  sought  the  tomb  for  rest  when  tired ; 
Peace  in  the  grave  may  not  be  yours ;  ye're  driven 

Back  into  daylight  by  a  force  inspired ; 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  255 

But  none  can  love  the  withered  husk,  though  even 

A  glorious  noble  kernel  it  contained. 
To  me,  an  adept,  was  the  writing  given 

Which  not  to  all  its  holy  sense  explained. 
When  'mid  the  crowd,  their  icy  shadows  flinging,        \ 

I  saw  a  form  that  glorious  still  remained, 
And  even  there,  where  mould  and  damp  were  clinging, 

Gave  me  a  blest,  a  rapture-fraught  emotion. 
As  though  from  death  a  living  fount  were  springing.  n,^^ 

What  mystic  joy  I  felt !     What  rapt  devotion  ! 
That  form,  how  pregnant  with  a  godlike  trace ! 

A  look,  how  did  it  whirl  me  toward  that  ocean 
Whose  rolling  billows  mightier  shapes  embrace  ! 

Mysterious  vessel !     Oracle  how  dear  ! 
Even  to  grasp  thee  is  my  hand  too  base, 

Except  to  steal  thee  from  thy  prison  here 
With  pious  purpose,  and  devoutly  go 

Back  to  the  air,  free  thoughts,  and  sunlight  clear. 
What  greater  gain  in  Hfe  can  man  e'er  know 

Than  when  God-Nature  will  to  him  explain 
How  into  Spirit  steadfastness  may  flow. 

How  steadfast,  too,  the  Spirit-Born  remain. 


ON   THE   DIVAN. 

He  who  knows  himself  and  others 

Here  will  also  see, 
That  the  East  and  West,  like  brothers. 

Parted  ne'er  shall  be. 

Thoughtfully  to  float  for  ever 

'Tween  two  worlds,  be  man's  endeavour ! 

So  between  the  East  and  West 

To  revolve,  be  mv  behest ! 


256  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


EOYAL   PEAYER. 

Ha,  I  am  the  lord  of  earth !     The  noble, 

Who're  in  my  service,  love  me. 
Ha,  I  am  the  lord  of  earth  !     The  noble. 

O'er  whom  my  sway  extendeth,  love  I. 
Oh,  grant  me,  God  in  Heaven,  that  I  may  ne'er 
Dispense  with  loftiness  and  love ! 


HUMAN   FEELINGS. 

Ah,  ye  gods  !  ye  great  immortals 
In  the  spacious  heavens  above  us  ! 
Would  ye  on  this  earth  but  give  us 
Steadfast  minds  and  dauntless  courage, 
We,  oh,  kindly  ones,  would  leave  you 
All  your  spacious  heavens  above  us  ! 


EXPLANATION  OF  AN  ANCIENT  WOODCUT, 
REPRESENTING  HANS  SACHS'S  POETICAL 
MISSION. 

[I  feel  considerable  hesitation  in  venturing  to  offer  this  version 
of  a  poem  which  Carlyle  describes  to  be  "  a  beautiful  piece  (a  very 
Hans  Sachs  beatified,  both  in  character  and  style),  which  we  wish 
there  was  any  possibility  of  translating."  The  reader  will  be 
aware  that  Hans  Sachs  was  the  celebrated  minstrel-cobbler  of 
Nuremberg,  who  wrote  208  plays,  1,700  comic  tales,  and  between 
4,000  and  5,000  lyric  poems.  He  flourished  throughout  almost 
the  whole  of  the  sixteenth  century.] 

Eaely  within  his  workshop  here, 
On  Sundays  stands  our  master  dear ; 
His  dirty  apron  he  puts  away, 
And  wears  a  cleanly  doublet  to-day ; 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  257 

Lets  waxed  thread,  hammer,  and  pincers  rest. 
And  lays  his  awl  within  his  chest ; 
The  seventh  day  he  takes  repose 
From  many  pulls  and  many  blows. 

Soon  as  the  spring-sun  meets  his  view. 
Repose  begets  him  labour  anew ; 
He  feels  that  he  holds  within  his  brain 
A  httle  world  that  broods  there  amain, 
And  that  begins  to  act  and  to  live, 
Which  he  unto  others  would  gladly  give. 

He  had  a  skilful  eye  and  true, 

And  was  full  kind  and  loving,  too. 

For  contemplation,  clear  and  pure,  — 

For  making  all  his  own  again,  sure ; 

He  had  a  tongue  that  charmed  when  'twas  heard, 

And  graceful  and  light  flowed  every  word ; 

Which  made  the  Muses  in  him  rejoice, 

The  Master-singer  of  their  choice. 


And  now  a  maiden  entered  there. 
With  swelling  breast,  and  body  fair ; 
With  footing  firm  she  took  her  place. 
And  moved  with  stately,  noble  grace  ; 

She  did  not  walk  in  wanton  mood. 
Nor  look  around  with  glances  lewd. 
She  held  a  measure  in  her  hand. 
Her  girdle  was  a  golden  band, 
A  wreath  of  com  was  on  her  head. 
Her  eye  the  day's  bright  lustre  shed ; 
Her  name  is  honest  Industry, 
Else,  Justice,  Magnanimity. 

She  entered  with  a  kindly  greeting ; 
He  felt  no  wonder  at  the  meeting, 


258  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

For,  kind  and  fair  as  she  might  be, 
He  long  had  known  her,  fancied  he. 

"  I  have  selected  thee,"  she  said, 
"  From  all  who  earth's  wild  mazes  tread, 
That  thou  shouldst  have  clear-sighted  sense, 
And  nought  that's  wrong  should  e'er  commence. 
When  others  run  in  strange  confusion, 
Thy  gaze  shall  see  through  each  illusion ; 
When  others  dolefully  complain. 
Thy  cause  with  jesting  thou  shalt  gain, 
Honour  and  right  shall  value  duly, 
In  everything  act  simply,  truly,  — 
Virtue  and  godliness  proclaim, 
And  call  all  evil  by  its  name, 
Nought  soften  down,  attempt  no  quibble, 
Nought  polish  up,  nought  vainly  scribble. 
The  world  shall  stand  before  thee,  then, 
As  seen  by  Albert  Durer's  ken, 
In  manliness  and  changeless  life, 
In  inward  strength  and  firmness  rife. 
Fair  Nature's  Genius  by  the  hand 
Shall  lead  thee  on  through  every  land, 
Teach  thee  each  different  life  to  scan, 
Show  thee  the  wondrous  ways  of  man, 
His  shifts,  confusions,  thrustings,  drubbings, 
Pushings,  tearings,  pressings,  and  rubbings ; 
The  varying  madness  of  the  crew, 
The  ant-hill's  ravings  bring  to  view ; 
But  thou  shalt  see  all  this  expressed, 
As  though  'twere  in  a  magic  chest. 
Write  these  things  down  for  folks  on  earth, 
In  hopes  they  may  to  wit  give  birth."  — 
Then  she  a  window  opened  wide. 
And  showed  a  motley  crowd  outside. 
All  kinds  of  beings  'neath  the  sky, 
As  in  his  writings  one  may  spy. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  259 

Our  master  dear  was  after  this, 

On  nature  thinking,  full  of  bliss, 

When  toward  him,  from  the  other  side 

He  saw  an  aged  woman  glide ; 

The  name  she  bears,  Historia, 

Mythologia,  Fabula ; 

With  footstep  tottering  and  unstable 

She  dragged  a  large  and  wooden  carved  table, 

Where,  with  wide  sleeves  and  human  mien, 

The  Lord  was  catechising  seen  ; 

Adam,  Eve,  Eden,  the  Serpent's  seduction, 

Gomorrah  and  Sodom's  awful  destruction, 

The  twelve  illustrious  women,  too. 

That  mirror  of  honour  brought  to  view ; 

All  kinds  of  bloodthirstiness,  murder,  and  sin, 

The  twelve  wicked  tyrants  also  were  in. 

And  all  kinds  of  goodly  doctrine  and  law ; 

Saint  Peter  with  his  scourge  you  saw, 

With  the  world's  ways  dissatisfied. 

And  by  our  Lord  with  power  supplied. 

Her  train  and  dress,  behind  and  before, 

And  e'en  the  seams,  were  painted  o'er 

With  tales  of  worldly  virtue  and  crime, — 

Our  master  viewed  all  this  for  a  time ; 

The  sight  right  gladly  he  surveyed. 

So  useful  for  him  in  his  trade. 

Whence  he  was  able  to  procure 

Example  good  and  precept  sure. 

Recounting  all  with  truthful  care. 

As  though  he  had  been  present  there. 

His  spirit  seemed  from  earth  to  fly, 

He  ne'er  had  turned  away  his  eye, 

Did  he  not  just  behind  him  hear 

A  rattle  of  bells  approaching  near.    . 

And  now  a  fool  doth  catch  his  eye. 
With  goat  and  ape's  leap  drawing  nigh, 


26o  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

A  merry  interlude  preparing 

With  fooleries  and  jests  unsparing. 

Behind  him,  in  a  line  drawn  out, 

He  dragged  all  fools,  the  lean  and  stout, 

The  great  and  little,  the  empty  and  full, 

All  too  witty,  and  all  too  dull, 

A  lash  he  flourished  overhead, 

As  though  a  dance  of  apes  he  led, 

Abusing  them  with  bitterness. 

As  though  his  wrath  would  ne'er  grow  less. 

While  on  this  sight  our  master  gazed. 
His  head  was  growing  well-nigh  crazed : 
What  words  for  all  could  he  e'er  find, 
Could  such  a  medley  be  combined  ? 
Could  he  continue  with  delight 
For  evermore  to  sing  and  write  ? 
When  lo !  from  out  a  cloud's  dark  bed 
In  at  the  upper  window  sped 
The  Muse,  in  all  her  majesty. 
As  fair  as  our  loved  maids  we  see. 
With  clearness  she  around  him  threw 
Her  truth,  that  ever  stronger  grew. 

"  I,  to  ordain  thee  come,"  she  spake : 
"  So  prosper,  and  my  blessing  take ! 
The  holy  fire  that  slumbering  lies 
Within  thee,  in  bright  flames  shall  rise ; 
Yet  that  thine  ever-restless  life 
May  still  with  kindly  strength  be  rife, 
I,  for  thine  inward  spirit's  calm. 
Have  granted  nourishment  and  balm, 
That  rapture  may  thy  soul  imbue, 
Like  some  fair  blossom  bathed  in  dew."  — 

Behind  his  house  then  secretly 
Outside  the  doorway  pointed  she, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  261 

Where  in  a  shady  garden-nook 

A  beauteous  maid  with  downcast  look 

Was  sitting  where  a  stream  w^as  flowing, 

With  elder  bushes  near  it  growing ; 

She  sat  beneath  an  apple-tree, 

And  nought  around  her  seemed  to  see. 

Her  lap  was  full  of  roses  fair, 

Which  in  a  wreath  she  twined  with  care. 

And  with  them  leaves  and  blossoms  blended : 

For  whom  was  that  sweet  wreath  intended  ? 

Thus  sat  she,  modest  and  retired, 

Her  bosom  throbbed,  with  hope  inspired ; 

Such  deep  forebodings  filled  her  mind. 

No  room  for  wishing  could  she  find, 

And  with  the  thoughts  that  o'er  it  flew, 

Perchance  a  sigh  was  mingled,  too. 

"  But  why  should  sorrow  cloud  thy  brow  ? 
That,  dearest  love,  which  fills  thee  now 
Is  fraught  with  joy  and  ecstasy. 
Prepared  in  one  alone  for  thee, 
That  he  within  thine  eye  may  find 
Solace  when  fortune  proves  unkind, 
And  be  new-born  through  many  a  kiss, 
That  he  receives  with  inward  bliss : 
Whene'er  he  clasps  thee  to  his  breast, 
May  he  from  all  his  toils  find  rest. 
When  he  in  thy  dear  arms  shall  sink, 
May  he  new  life  and  vigour  drink : 
Fresh  joys  of  youth  shalt  thou  obtain. 
In  merry  jest  rejoice  again. 
With  raillery  and  roguish  spite, 
Thou  now  shalt  tease  him,  now  delight. 
Thus  Love  will  never  more  grow  old. 
Thus  will  the  minstrel  ne'er  be  cold." 

While  he  thus  lives,  in  secret  blessed. 
Above  him  in  the  clouds  doth  rest 


262  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

An  oak-wreath,  verdant  and  sublime, 
Placed  on  his  brow  in  after-time ; 
While  they  are  banished  to  the  slough, 
Who  their  great  master  disavow. 


THE    FRIENDLY   MEETING. 

In  spreading  mantle  to  my  chin  concealed, 
I  trod  the  rocky  path  so  steep  and  gray, 
Then  to  the  wintry  plain  I  bent  my  way 

Uneasily,  to  flight  my  bosom  steeled. 

But  sudden  was  the  new-born  day  revealed. 
A  maiden  came,  in  heavenly  bright  array. 
Like  the  fair  creatures  of  the  poet's  lay 

In  realms  of  song.     My  yearning  heart  was  healed ! 

Yet  turned  I  thence,  till  she  had  onward  passed, 
While  closer  still  the  folds  to  draw  I  tried, 
As  though   with   heat   self-kindled   to  grow 
warm ; 
But  followed  her.     She  stood.     The  die  was  cast ! 
No  more  within  mv  mantle  could  I  hide ; 
I  threw  it  off,  —  she  lay  within  mine  arm. 


IN   A   WORD. 

Thus  to  be  chained  for  ever,  can  I  bear  ? 

A  very  torment  that,  in  truth,  would  be. 

This  very  day  my  new  resolve  shall  see, 
I'll  not  go  near  the  lately  worshipped  Fair. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  263 

Yet  what  excuse,  my  heart,  can  I  prepare 
In  such  a  case,  for  not  consulting  thee  ? 
But  courage !  while  our  sorrows  utter  we 

In  tones  where  love,  grief,  gladness  have  a  share. 


But  see  !  the  minstrel's  bidding  to  obey. 
Its  melody  pours  forth  the  sounding  lyre. 
Yearning  a  sacrifice  of  love  to  bring. 
Scarce  would'st  thou  think  it  —  ready  is  the  lay  ; 
Well,  but  wbat  then  ?    Methought  in  the  first  fire 
We  to  her  presence  flew,  that  lay  to  sing. 


THE   MAIDEN   SPEAKS. 

How  grave  thou  lookest,  loved  one  !  wherefore  so  ? 

Thy  marble  image  seems  a  type  of  thee ; 

Like  it,  no  sign  of  life  thou  givest  me ; 
Compared  with  thee,  the  stone  appears  to  glow. 

Behind  his  shield  in  ambush  lurks  the  foe. 
The  friend's  brow  all  unruffled  we  should  see. 
I  seek  thee,  but  thou  seekest  away  to  flee ; 

Fixed  as  this  sculptured  figure,  learn  to  grow ! 


Tell  me,  to  which  should  I  the  preference  pay  ? 
Must  1  from  both  with  coldness  meet  alone  ? 
The  one  is  lifeless,  thou  with  life  art  blest. 
In  short,  no  longer  to  throw  words  away, 
I'll  fondly  kiss  and  kiss  and  kiss  this  stone. 

Till  thou  dost  tear  me  hence  with  envious  breast. 


264  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


GEOWTH. 

O'er  field  and  plain,  in  childhood's  artless  days, 
Thou  sprangest  with  me  on  many  a  spring-morn 
fair. 
"  For  such  a  daughter,  with  what  pleasing  care, 
Would  I,  as  father,  happy  dw^elhngs  raise  ? " 

And  when  thou  on  the  world  didst  cast  thy  gaze, 
Thy  joy  was  then  in  household  toils  to  share. 
"  Why  did  I  trust  her,  why  she  trust  me  e'er  ? 
For  such  a  sister,  how  I  Heaven  should  praise ! " 

Nothing  can  now  the  beauteous  growth  retard ; 
Love's  glowing  flame  within  my  breast  is  fanned. 
Shall  I  embrace  her  form,  my  grief  to  end  ? 
Thee  as  a  queen  must  I,  alas,  regard : 

So  high  above  me  placed  thou  seemest  to  stand ; 
Before  a  passing  look  I  meekly  bend. 


FOOD    IN   TEAVEL. 

If  to  her  eyes'  bright  lustre  I  were  blind. 
No  longer  would  they  serve  my  life  to  gild. 
The  will  of  destiny  must  be  fulfilled,  — 

This  knowing,  I  withdrew  with  saddened  mind. 

No  further  happiness  I  now  could  find ; 

The  former  longings  of  my  heart  were  stilled, 
I  sought  her  looks  alone,  whereon  to  build 

My  joy  in  life  —  all  else  was  left  behind. 

Wine's  genial  glow,  the  festal  banquet  gay, 

Ease,  sleep,  and  friends,  all  wonted  pleasures  glad 
I  spurned,  till  little  there  remained  to  prove. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  265 

Now  calmly  through  the  world  1  wend  my  way  : 
That  which  I  crave  may  everywhere  be  had, 
With  me  I  bring  the  one  thing  needful  —  love. 


DEPARTURE. 

With  many  a  thousand  kiss  not  yet  content. 
At  length  with  one  kiss  I  was  forced  to  go ; 
After  that  bitter  parting's  depth  of  woe, 

I  deemed  the  shore  from  which  my  steps  I  bent. 

Its  hills,  streams,  dwellings,  mountains,  as  I  went, 
A  pledge  of  joy,  till  daylight  ceased  to  glow ; 
Then  on  my  sight  did  blissful  \dsions  glow  ; 

In  the  dim-lighted,  distant  firmament. 

And  when  at  length  the  sea  confined  my  gaze. 
My  ardent  longing  filled  my  heart  once  more ; 
Wliat  I  had  lost  unwilhugly  I  sought. 
Then  Heaven  appeared  to  shed  its  kindly  rays ; 
Methought  that  all  I  had  possessed  of  yore 

Remained  still  mine  —  that  I  was  reft  of  nought. 


THE   LOVING   ONE   WRITES. 

The  look  that  thy  sweet  eyes  on  mine  impress, 
The  pledge  thy  lips  to  mine  convey,  —  the  kiss, 
He  who,  like  me,  hath  knowledge  sure  of  this, 

Can  he  in  aught  beside  find  happiness  ? 

Removed  from  thee,  friend-severed,  in  distress, 
These  thoughts  I  vainly  struggle  to  dismiss 
They  still  return  to  that  one  hour  of  bliss, 

The  only  one;  then  tears  my  grief  confess.. 


266  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

But  unawares  the  tear  makes  haste  to  dry : 

He  loves,  methiuks,  e'en  to  those  glades  so  still,- 
And  shalt  not  thou  to  distant  lands  extend  ? 
Receive  the  murmurs  of  this  loving  sigh ; 
My  only  joy  on  earth  is  in  thy  will, 

Thy  kindly  will  tow'rd  me ;  a  token  send ! 


Lovingly  I'll  sing  of  love ; 
Ever  comes  she  from  above. 


THE   LOVING   ONE   ONCE   MOEE. 

Why  do  I  o'er  my  paper  once  more  bend  ? 
Ask  not  too  closely,  dearest  one,  I  pray : 
For,  to  speak  truth,  I've  nothing  now  to  say ; 

Yet  to  thy  hands  at  length  'twill  come,  dear  friend. 

Since  I  can  come  not  with  it,  what  I  send 
My  undivided  heart  shall  now  convey, 
With  all  its  joys,  hopes,  pleasures,  pains,  to-day: 

All  this  hath  no  beginning,  hath  no  end. 

Henceforward  I  may  ne'er  to  thee  confide 

How,  far  as  thought,  wish,  fancy,  will,  can  reach, 
My  faithful  heart  with  thine  is  surely  blended. 
Thus  stood  I  once  enraptured  by  thy  side, 

Gazed   on  thee,  and   said  nought.     What  need   of 
speech  ? 
My  very  being  itself  was  ended. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  267 


THE   DOUBTERS   AND   THE   LOVERS. 

THE    DOUBTERS. 

Ye  love,  and  sonnets  write  !     Fate's  strange  behest ! 
The  heart,  its  hidden  meaning  to  declare, 
Must  seek  for  rhymes,  uniting  pair  with  pair : 

Learn,  children,  that  the  will  is  weak,  at  best. 

Scarcely  with  freedom  the  o'erflowing  breast 
As  yet  can  speak,  and  well  may  it  beware ; 
Tempestuous  passions  sweep  each  chord  that's  there, 

Then  once  more  sink  to  night  and  gentle  rest. 

Why  vex  yourselves  and  us,  the  heavy  stone 
Up  the  steep  path  but  step  by  step  to  roll  ? 
It  falls  again,  and  ye  ne'er  cease  to  strive. 

THE   LOVERS. 

But  we  are  on  the  proper  road  alone ! 
If  gladly  is  to  thaw  the  frozen  soul. 
The  tire  of  love  must  aye  be  kept  alive. 


SHE    CANNOT    END. 

When  unto  thee  I  sent  the  page  all  white. 
Instead  of  first  thereon  inscribing  aught, 
The  space  thou  doubtless  filledst  up  in  sport, 

And  sent  it  me  to  make  my  joy  grow  bright. 

As  soon  as  the  blue  cover  met  my  sight, 

As  well  becomes  a  woman,  quick  as  thought 
I  tore  it  open,  leaving  hidden  nought, 

And  read  the  well-known  words  of  pure  delight 


268  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

My  only  being  !  Deakest  heaet  !  Sweet  child  ! 
How  kindly  thou  my  yearniug  then  didst  still 
With  gentle  words,  enthralling  me  to  thee. 
In  truth  methought  I  read  thy  whispers  mild 
Wherewith  thou  lovingly  my  soul  didst  fill, 
E'en  to  myself  for  aye  ennobling  me. 


NEMESIS. 

When  through  the  nations  stalks  contagion  wild, 
We  from  them  cautiously  should  steal  away, 
E'en  I  have  oft  with  ling'ring  and  delay 

Shunned  many  an  influence,  not  to  be  defiled. 


And  e'en  though  Amor  oft  my  hours  beguiled. 
At  length  with  him  preferred  I  not  to  play, 
And  so,  too,  with  the  wretched  sons  of  clay, 

When  four  and  three-lined  verses  they  compiled. 

But  punishment  pursues  the  scoffer  straight, 
As  if  by  serpent-torch  of  furies  led 

From  hill  to  vale,  from  land  to  sea  to  fly. 
I  hear  the  genie's  laughter  at  my  fate ; 
Yet  do  I  find  all  power  of  thinking  fled 
In  sonnet-rage  and  love's  fierce  ecstasy. 


THE   CHRISTMAS-BOX. 

This  box,  mine  own  sweet  darling,  thou  wilt  find 
With  many  a  varied  sweetmeat's  form  supplied ; 
The  fruits  are  they  of  holy  Christmas-tide, 

But  baked,  indeed,  for  children's  use  designed. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  269 

I'd  fain,  in  speeches  sweet  with  skill  combined, 
Poetic  sweetmeats  for  the  feast  provide ; 
But  why  in  such  frivolities  confide  ? 

Perish  the  thought,  with  flattery  to  blind  ! 

One  sweet  thing  there  is  still,  that  from  within, 
Within  us  speaks,  —  that  may  be  felt  afar  ; 
This  may  be  wafted  o'er  to  thee  alone. 
If  thou  a  recollection  fond  canst  win, 

As  if  with  pleasure  gleamed  each  well-known  star, 
The  smallest  gift  thou  never  wilt  disown. 


THE   WARNING. 

When  sounds  the  trumpet  at  the  Judgment  Day, 
And  when  for  ever  all  things  earthly  die, 
We  must  a  full  and  true  account  supply 

Of  ev'ry  useless  word  we  dropped  in  play. 

But  what  effect  will  all  the  words  convey 
Wherein  with  eager  zeal  and  lovingly, 
That  I  might  win  thy  favour,  laboured  I, 

If  on  thine  ear  alone  they  die  away  ? 

Therefore,  sweet  love,  thy  conscience  bear  in  mind. 
Remember  well  how  long  thou  hast  delayed. 

So  that  the  world  such  sufferings  may  not  know. 
If  I  must  reckon,  and  excuses  find 

For  all  things  useless  I  to  thee  have  said. 
To  a  full  year  the  Judgment  Day  will  grow. 

THE   EPOCHS. 

On  Petrarch's  heart,  all  other  days  before. 
In  flaming  letters  written,  was  impressed 
Good  Friday.     And  on  mine,  be  it  confessed, 

Is  this  year's  Advent,  as  it  passeth  o'er. 


270  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

I  do  not  now  begin,  —  I  still  adore 

Her  whom  I  early  cherished  in  my  breast, 
Then  once  again  with  prudence  dispossessed. 

And  to  whose  heart  I'm  driven  back  once  mora 

The  love  of  Petrarch,  that  all-glorious  love, 
Was  unrequited,  and,  alas,  full  sad ; 

One  long  Good  Friday  'twas,  one  heartache  drear ; 
But  may  my  mistress'  Advent  ever  prove. 
With  its  palm-jubilee,  so  sweet  and  glad, 

One  endless  May-day,  through  the  livelong  year ! 

CHARADE. 

Two  words  there  are,  both  short,  of  beauty  rare, 
Wliose  sounds  our  lips  so  often  love  to  frame, 
But  which  with  clearness  never  can  proclaim 

The  things  whose  own  pecuhar  stamp  they  bear. 

'Tis  well  in  days  of  age  and  youth  so  fair, 

One  on  the  other  boldly  to  inflame ; 

And  if  those  words  together  linked  we  name, 
A  blissful  rapture  we  discover  there. 

But  now  to  give  them  pleasure  do  I  seek. 
And  in  myself  my  happiness  would  find ; 
I  hope  in  silence,  but  I  hope  for  this : 
Gently,  as  loved  ones'  names,  those  words  to  speak, 
To  see  them  both  within  one  image  shrined. 
Both  in  one  being  to  embrace  with  bhss. 


^o 


THE   SOLDIER'S   CONSOLATION. 

No !  in  truth  there's  here  no  lack  : 
White  the  bread,  the  maidens  black  ! 
To  another  town,  next  night, 
Black  the  bread,  the  maidens  white! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  271 


TO    OEIGINALS. 


A  FELLOW  says :  "  I  own  no  school  or  college ; 

No  master  lives  whom  I  acknowledge ; 

And  pray  don't  entertain  the  thought 

That  from  the  dead  I  e'er  learnt  aught." 

This,  if  I  rightly  understand, 

Means :  "  I'm  a  blockhead  at  first  hand." 

GENIAL    IMPULSE. 

Thus  roll  I,  never  taking  ease, 

My  tub,  like  Saint  Diogenes, 

Now  serious  am,  now  seek  to  please, 

Now  love  and  hate  in  turns  one  sees ; 

The  motives  now  are  those,  now  these ; 

Now  nothings,  now  realities. 

Thus  roll  I,  never  taking  ease, 

My  tub,  like  Saint  Diogenes. 

NEITHER  THIS   NOE  THAT. 

If  thou  to  be  a  slave  shouldst  will, 
Thou'lt  get  no  pity,  but  fare  ill ; 
And  if  a  master  thou  wouldst  be, 
The  world  will  view  it  angrily  ; 
And  if  in  staht  quo  thou  stay, 
That  thou  art  but  a  fool  they'll  say. 

THE   WAY   TO    BEHAVE. 

Though  tempers  are  bad,  and  peevish  folks  swear. 
Remember  to  ruffle  thy  brows,  friend,  ne'er ; 
And  let  not  the  fancies  of  women  so  fair 
E'er  serve  thy  pleasure  in  life  to  impair. 


272  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE    BEST. 


When  head  and  heart  are  busy,  say, 
What  better  can  be  found  ? 

Who  neither  loves  nor  goes  astray, 
Were  better  under  ground. 


a'^ 


AS    BEOAD    AS    IT'S    LONG. 

Modest  men  must  needs  endure, 
And  the  bold  must  humbly  bow ; 

Thus  thy  fate's  the  same,  be  sure. 
Whether  bold  or  modest  thou. 

THE    EULE    OF    LIFE. 

If  thou  wouldst  live  unruffled  by  care, 
Let  not  the  past  torment  thee  e'er ; 
As  little  as  possible  be  thou  annoyed. 
And  let  the  present  be  ever  enjoyed ; 
Ne'er  let  thy  breast  with  hate  be  supplied, 
And  to  God  the  future  confide. 

THE   SAME,   EXPANDED. 

If  thou  wouldst  live  unruffled  by  care, 
Let  not  the  past  torment  thee  e'er; 
If  any  loss  thou  hast  to  rue, 
Act  as  though  thou  wert  born  anew ; 
Inquire  the  meaning  of  each  day, 
What  each  day  means,  itself  will  say ; 
In  thine  own  actions  take  thy  pleasure, 
What  others  do  thou'lt  duly  treasure  ; 
Ne'er  let  thy  breast  with  hate  be  supplied, 
And  to  God  the  future  confide. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  273 


CALM    AT    SEA. 

Silence  deep  rules  o'er  the  waters, 
Calmly  slumbering  lies  the  main, 

While  the  sailor  views  with  trouble 
Nought  but  one  vast  level  plain. 

Not  a  zephyr  is  in  motion  ! 

Silence  fearful  as  the  grave  ! 
In  the  mighty  waste  of  ocean 

Sunk  to  rest  is  every  wave. 


If  wealth  is  gone,  —  then  something  is  gone ! 

Quick,  make  up  thy  mind, 

And  fresh  wealth  find. 
If  honour  is  gone,  —  then  much  is  gone ! 

Seek  glory  to  find. 

And  people  then  will  alter  their  mind. 
If  courage  is  gone,  —  then  all  is  gone  ! 
'Twere  better  that  thou  hadst  never  been  born. 


THE   PROSPEEOUS    VOYAGE. 

The  mist  is  fast  clearing, 
And  radiant  is  heaven, 
Whilst  ^olus  loosens 
Our  anguish-fraught  bond. 
The  zephyrs  are  sighing, 
Alert  is  the  sailor. 
Quick  !  nimbly  be  plying  ! 
The  billows  are  riven, 
The  distance  approaches ; 
I  see  land  beyond  ! 


2  74  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


COUEAGE. 

Caeelessly  over  the  plain  away, 
Where  by  the  boldest  man  no  path 
Cut  before  thee  thou  canst  discern. 
Make  for  thyself  a  path ! 

Silence,  loved  one,  my  heart ! 
Cracking,  let  it  not  break ! 
Breaking,  break  not  with  thee ! 


ADMONITION. 

Wherefoke  ever  ramble  on 
For  the  Good  is  lying  near. 

Fortune  learn  to  seize  alone. 
For  that  Fortune's  ever  here. 


MY   ONLY    PROPERTY. 

I  FEEL  that  I'm  possessed  of  nought, 
Saving  the  free  unfettered  thought 

Which  from  my  bosom  seeks  to  flow, 
And  each  propitious  passing  hour 
That  suffers  me  in  all  its  power 

A  loving  fate  with  truth  to  know. 


May  each  honest  effort  be 
Crowned  with  lasting  constancy. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  275 


OLD   AGE. 

Old  age  is  courteous  —  no  one  more : 
For  time  after  time  he  knocks  at  the  door, 
But  nobody  says,  "  Walk  in,  sir,  pray  !  " 
Yet  turns  he  not  from  the  door  away, 
But  hfts  the  latch  and  enters  with  speed. 
And  then  they  cry,  "  A  cool  one,  indeed ! " 


EPITAPH. 

As  a  boy,  reserved  and  naughty ; 
As  a  youth,  a  coxcomb  and  haughty ; 
As  a  man,  for  action  inclined  ; 
As  a  graybeard,  fickle  in  mind. 
Upon  thy  grave  will  people  read : 
This  was  a  very  man,  indeed ! 


RULE    FOR  MONARCHS. 

If  men  are  never  their  thoughts  to  employ, 

Take  care  to  provide  them  a  life  full  of  joy ; 

But  if  to  some  profit  and  use  thou  wouldst  bend  them, 

Take  care  to  shear  them,  and  then  defend  them. 


PAULO   POST   FUTURI. 

Weep  ye  not,  ye  children  dear, 
That  as  yet  ye  are  unborn  : 

For  each  sorrow  and  each  tear 

Makes  the  father's  heart  to  mourn. 


276  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Patient  be  a  short  time  to  it, 

Unproduced,  and  known  to  none ; 

If  vour  father  cannot  do  it. 

By  your  mother  'twill  be  done. 


He  who  with  Ufe  makes  sport. 

Can  prosper  never ; 
Who  rules  himself  in  nought, 

Is  a  slave  ever. 


THE   FOOL'S   EPILOGUE. 

Many  good  works  I've  done  and  ended, 

Ye  take  the  praise  —  I'm  not  offended  ; 

For  in  the  world,  I've  always  thought 

Each  thing  its  true  position  hath  sought. 

When  praised  for  foohsh  deeds  am  I, 

I  set  off  laughing  heartily  ; 

When  blamed  for  doing  something  good, 

I  take  it  in  an  easy  mood. 

If  some  one  stronger  gives  me  hard  blows, 

That  it's  a  jest,  I  feign  to  suppose ; 

But  if  'tis  one  that's  but  my  own  like, 

I  know  the  way  such  folks  to  strike. 

When  Fortune  smiles,  I  merry  grow. 

And  sing  in  dulci  jubilo  ; 

When  sinks  her  wheel,  and  tumbles  me  o'er, 

I  think  'tis  sure  to  rise  once  more. 

In  the  sunshine  of  summer  I  ne'er  lament. 
Because  the  winter  it  cannot  prevent ; 
And  when  the  white  suowflakes  fall  around, 
I  don  my  skates,  and  am  off  with  a  bound. 
Though  I  dissemble  as  I  will, 
The  sun  for  me  will  ne'er  stand  still ; 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  277 

The  old  and  wonted  course  is  run, 

Until  the  whole  of  life  is  done ; 

Each  day  the  servant  like  the  lord, 

In  turns  comes  heme,  and  goes  abroad ; 

If  proud  or  humble  the  line  they  take, 

They  all  must  eat,  drink,  sleep,  and  wake. 

So  nothing  ever  vexes  me ; 

Act  like  the  fool,  and  wise  ye'U  be ! 


AUTHOES. 

Over  the  meadows,  and  down  the  stream, 
And  through  the  garden-walks  straying. 

He  plucks  the  flowers  that  fairest  seem ; 
His  throbbing  heart  brooks  no  delaying. 

His  maiden  then  comes  —  oh,  what  ecstasy  ! 

Thy  flowers  thou  givest  for  one  glance  of  her  eye ! 

The  gard'ner  next  door  o'er  the  hedge  sees  the  youth : 
"  I'm  not  such  a  fool  as  that,  in  good  truth ; 
My  pleasure  is  ever  to  cherish  each  flower. 
And  see  that  no  birds  my  fruit  e'er  devour. 
But  when  'tis  ripe,  your  money,  good  neighbour ! 
'Twas  not  for  nothing  I  took  all  this  labour ! " 

And  such,  methinks,  are  the  author-tribe. 
The  one  his  pleasures  around  liim  strews, 
That  his  friends,  the  pubhc,  may  reap,  if  they  choose ; 

The  other  would  fain  make  them  all  subscribe. 


CAT  -  PIE. 

While  he  is  marked  by  vision  clear 
Who  fathoms  Nature's  treasures. 

The  man  may  follow  void  of  fear. 
Who  her  proportions  measures. 


278         ,  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Though  for  one  mortal,  it  is  true, 
These  trades  roay  both  be  fitted, 

Yet,  that  the  things  themselves  are  two 
Must  always  be  admitted. 

Once  on  a  time  there  lived  a  cook 
Whose  skill  was  past  disputing, 

Who  in  his  head  a  fancy  took 
To  try  his  luck  at  shooting. 

So,  gun  in  hand,  he  sought  a  spot 
Where  stores  of  game  were  breeding, 

And  there  ere  long  a  cat  he  shot 
That  on  young  birds  was  feeding. 

This  cat  he  fancied  was  a  hare. 
Forming  a  judgment  hasty, 

So  served  it  up  for  people's  fare 
Well  spiced  and  in  a  pasty. 

Yet  many  a  guest  with  wrath  was  filled 
(All  who  had  noses  tender) : 

The  cat  that's  by  the  sportsman  killed 
No  cook  a  hare  can  render. 


JOY. 

A  DRAGON  -  FLY  with  beauteous  wing 
Is  hovering  o'er  a  silvery  spring  ; 
I  watch  its  motions  with  delight,  — 
Now  dark  its  colours  seem,  now  bright, 
Chameleon-like  appears  now  blue, 
Now  red,  and  now  of  greenish  hue. 
Would  it  would  come  still  nearer  me, 
That  I  its  tints  might  better  see ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  279 

It  hovers,  flutters,  resting  ne'er ! 

But  hush !  it  settles  on  the  mead. 
I  have  it  safe  now,  I  declare ! 

And  when  its  form  I  closely  view, 
'Tis  of  a  sad  and  dingy  blue  — 
Such,  Joy-Dissector,  is  thy  case,  indeed ! 


EXPLANATION    OF   AN    ANTIQUE   GEM. 

A  YOUNG  fig-tree  its  form  lifts  high 

Within  a  beauteous  garden  ; 
And  see,  a  goat  is  sitting  by, 

As  if  he  were  its  warden. 


But,  oh,  Quirites,  how  one  errs ! 

The  tree  is  guarded  badly  ; 
For  round  the  other  side  there  whirrs 

And  hums  a  beetle  madly. 

The  hero  with  his  well- mailed  coat 
Nibbles  the  branches  tall  so ; 

A  mighty  longing  feels  the  goat 
Gently  to  climb  up  also. 

And  so,  my  friends,  ere  long  ye  see 
The  tree  all  leafless  standing ; 

It  looks  a  type  of  misery, 

Help  of  the  gods  demanding. 

Then  listen,  ye  ingenuous  youth, 
Who  hold  wise  saws  respected : 

From  he-goat  and  from  beetle's  tooth 
A  tree  should  be  protected ! 


2  8o  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


LEGEND. 


There  lived  in  the  desert  a  holy  man 

To  whom  a  goat-footed  Faun  one  day 
Paid  a  visit,  and  thus  began 

To  his  surprise  :  "  1  entreat  thee  to  pray 
That  grace  to  me  and  my  friends  may  be  given, 
That  we  may  be  able  to  mount  to  Heaven, 
For  great  is  our  thirst  for  heavenly  bliss." 
The  holy  man  made  answer  to  this : 

"  Much  danger  is  lurking  in  thy  petition, 
Nor  will  it  be  easy  to  gain  admission  ; 
Thou  dost  not  come  with  an  angel's  salute ; 
For  I  see  thou  wearest  a  cloven  foot." 
The  wild  man  paused,  and  then  answered  he : 

"  What  doth  my  goat's  foot  matter  to  thee  ? 
Full  many  I've  known  into  heaven  to  pass 
Straight  and  with  ease,  with  the  head  of  an  ass ! " 


THE   WRANGLER 

One  day  a  shameless  and  impudent  wight 
Went  into  a  shop  full  of  steel  wares  bright, 
Arranged  with  art  upon  every  shelf. 
He  fancied  they  all  were  meant  for  himself ; 
And  so,  while  the  patient  owner  stood  by, 
The  shining  goods  needs  must  handle  and  try, 
And  valued,  —  for  how  should  a  fool  better  know?- 
The  bad  things  high,  and  the  good  ones  low, 
And  all  with  an  easy  self-satisfied  face ; 
Then,  having  bought  nothing,  he  left  the  place. 

The  tradesman  now  felt  sorely  vexed. 
So  when  the  fellow  went  there  next, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  281 

A  lock  of  steel  made  quite  red  hot. 

The  other  cried  upon  the  spot : 
"  Such  wares  as  these,  who'd  ever  buy  ? 

The  steel  is  tarnished  shamefully,"  — 

Then  pulled  it,  hke  a  fool,  about, 

But  soon  set  up  a  piteous  shout. 
"  Pray  what's  the  matter  ?  "    the  shopman  spoke ; 

The  other  rephed :  "  Faith,  a  very  cool  joke  ! " 


THE   CKITIC. 

I  HAD  a  fellow  as  my  guest. 
Not  knovmig  he  was  such  a  pest, 
And  gave  him  just  my  usual  fare ; 
He  ate  his  fill  of  what  was  there, 
And  for  a  dessert  my  best  things  swallowed, 
Soon  as  his  meal  was  o'er,  what  followed  ? 
Led  by  the  Deuce,  to  a  neighbour  he  went. 
And  talked  of  my  food  to  his  heart's  content : 
«  The  soup  might  surely  have  had  more  spice, 
The  meat  was  ill-browned,  and  the  wine  wasn't  nice." 
A  thousand  curses  alight  on  his  head ! 
'Tis  a  critic,  I  vow  !     Let  the  dog  be  struck  dead ! 


THE   YELPERS. 

Our  rides  in  all  directions  bend. 

For  business  or  for  pleasure. 
Yet  yelpings  on  our  steps  attend. 

And  barkings  without  measure. 
The  dog  that  in  our  stable  dwells, 

After  our  heels  is  striding, 
And  all  the  while  his  noisy  yells 

But  show  that  we  are  riding. 


282  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE   STOEK'S   VOCATION. 

The  stork  who  worms  and  frogs  devours 

That  in  our  ponds  reside, 
Why  should  he  dwell  on  high  church  towers, 

With  which  he's  not  allied  ? 

Incessantly  he  chatters  there, 

And  gives  our  ears  no  rest ; 
But  neither  old  nor  young  can  dare 

To  drive  him  from  his  nest. 

I  humbly  ask  it,  —  how  can  he 

Give  of  his  title  proof. 
Save  by  his  happy  tendency 

To  sell  the  church's  roof  ? 


THE   DILETTANTE   AND    THE   CEITIC. 

A  BOY  a  pigeon  once  possessed. 

In  gay  and  brilliant  plumage  dressed  ; 

He  loved  it  well,  and  in  boyish  sport 

Its  food  to  take  from  his  mouth  he  taught, 

And  in  his  pigeon  he  took  such  pride, 

That  his  joy  to  others  he  needs  must  confide. 

An  ag^d  fox  near  the  place  chanced  to  dwell, 
Talkative,  clever,  and  learned  as  well ; 
The  boy  his  society  used  to  prize, 
Hearing  with  pleasure  his  wonders  and  lies. 

"  My  friend,  the  fox,  my  pigeon  must  see  ! " 
He  ran,  and  stretched  'mongst  the  bushes  lay  he. 
"  Look,  fox,  at  my  pigeon,  my  pigeon  so  fair ! 
His  equal  I'm  sure  thou  hast  looked  upon  ne'er ! " 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  283 

"  Let's  see  ! "  —  The    boy  gave   it.  —  "  'Tis    really  not 

bad  ; 
And  yet,  it  is  far  from  complete,  I  must  add. 
The  feathers,  for  instance,  how  short !     'Tis  absurd  ! " 
So  he  set  to  work  straightway  to  pluck  the  poor  bird. 

The  boy  screamed.  — "  Thou  must  now  stronger  pin- 
ions supply, 

Or  else  'twill  be  ugly,  unable  to  fly." 

Soon  'twas  stripped  —  oh,  the  villain  !  —  and  torn  all 
to  pieces. 

The  boy  was  heartbroken,  —  and  so  my  tale  ceases. 


He  who  sees  in  the  boy  shadowed  forth  his  own  case, 
Should  be  on  his  guard  'gainst  the  fox's  whole  race. 

POETRY. 

God  to  his  untaught  children  sent 

Law,  order,  knowledge,  art,  from  high, 
And  every  heavenly  favour  lent. 

The  world's  hard  lot  to  qualify. 
They  knew  not  how  they  should  behave, 

For  all  from  Heaven  stark-naked  came  ; 
But  Poetry  their  garments  gave. 

And  then  not  one  had  cause  for  shame. 


CELEBRITY. 

[A  satire  on  his  own  "  Sorrows  of  Werther."] 

On  bridges  small  and  bridges  great 
Stand  Nepomucks  in  every  state. 
Of  bronze,  wood,  painted,  or  of  stone. 
Some  small  as  dolls,  some  giants  grown ; 


284  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Each  passer  must  worship  before  Nepomuck, 

Who  to  die  on  a  bridge  chanced  to  have  the  ill-luck. 

When  once  a  man  with  head  and  ears 

A  saint  in  people's  eyes  appears, 

Or  has  been  sentenced  piteously 

Beneath  the  hangman's  hand  to  die, 

He's  as  a  noted  person  prized, 

In  portrait  is  immortalised. 

Engravings,  woodcuts,  are  supplied, 

And  through  the  world  spread  far  and  wide. 

Upon  them  all  is  seen  his  name, 

And  every  one  admits  his  claim ; 

Even  the  image  of  the  Lord 

Is  not  with  greater  zeal  adored. 

Strange  fancy  of  the  human  race ! 

Half  sinner  frail,  half  child  of  grace, 

We  see  Herr  Werther  of  the  story 

In  all  the  pomp  of  woodcut  glory. 

His  worth  is  first  made  duly  known. 

By  having  his  sad  features  shown 

At  every  fair  the  country  round ; 

In  every  alehouse,  too,  they're  found. 

His  stick  is  pointed  by  each  dunce ; 
"  The  ball  would  reach  his  brain  at  once ! " 

And  each  says,  o'er  his  beer  and  bread : 
"  Thank  Heaven,  that  'tis  not  we  are  dead  ! " 


PLAYING   AT   PPJESTS. 

Within  a  town  where  parity 
According  to  old  form  we  see,  — 
That  is  to  say,  where  Catholic 
And  Protestant  no  quarrels  pick. 
And  where,  as  in  his  father's  day. 
Each  worships  God  in  his  own  way, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  285 

We  Lutheran  children  used  to  dwell, 
By  songs  and  sermons  taught  as  well. 
The  Catholic  cling-elang  in  truth 
Sounded  more  pleasing  to  our  youth, 
For  all  that  we  encountered  there 
To  us  seemed  varied,  joyous,  fair. 
As  children,  monkeys,  and  mankind 
To  ape  each  other  are  inclined. 
We  soon,  the  time  to  while  away, 
A  game  at  priests  resolved  to  play. 
Their  aprons  all  our  sisters  lent 
For  copes,  which  gave  us  great  content ; 
And  handkerchiefs  embroidered  o'er, 
Instead  of  stoles  we  also  wore ; 
Gold  paper,  whereon  beasts  were  traced, 
The  bishop's  brow  as  mitre  graced. 


Through  house  and  garden  thus  in  state 
We  strutted  early,  strutted  late ; 
Repeating,  with  all  proper  unction. 
Incessantly  each  holy  function. 
The  best  was  wanting  to  the  game ; 
We  knew  that  a  sonorous  ring 
Was  here  a  most  important  thing ; 
But  fortune  to  our  rescue  came. 
For  on  the  ground  a  halter  lay ; 
We  were  dehghted,  and  at  once 
Made  it  a  bell-rope  for  the  nonce. 
And  kept  it  moving  all  the  day ; 

In  turns  each  sister  and  each  brother 
Acted  as  sexton  to  another ; 
All  helped  to  swell  the  joyous  throng ; 
The  whole  proceeded  swimmingly. 
And  since  no  actual  bell  had  we, 
We  all  in  chorus  sang,  Ding  dong ! 


286  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Our  guileless  child's-sport  long  was  hushed 
In  memory's  tomb,  hke  some  old  lay ; 

And  yet  across  my  mind  it  rushed 
With  pristine  force  the  other  day. 

The  New-Poetic  Catholics 

In  every  point  its  aptness  fix  ! 


SONGS. 

Songs  are  like  painted  window-panes ! 
In  darkness  wrapped  the  church  remains, 
If  from  the  market-place  we  view  it , 
Thus  sees  the  ignoramus  through  it. 
No  wonder  that  he  deems  it  tame,  — 
And  all  his  life  'twill  be  the  same. 

But  let  us  now  inside  repair, 

And  greet  the  holy  chapel  there ! 

At  once  the  whole  seems  clear  and  bright, 

Each  ornament  is  bathed  in  hght. 

And  fraught  with  meaning  to  the  sight. 

God's  children !  thus  your  fortune  prize, 

Be  edified,  and  feast  your  eyes ! 


A    PARABLE. 

I  PICKED  a  rustic  nosegay  lately, 

And  bore  it  homewards,  musing  greatly ; 

When,  heated  by  my  hand,  I  found 

The  heads  all  drooping  toward  the  ground. 

I  placed  them  in  a  well-cooled  glass, 

And  what  a  wonder  came  to  pass ! 

The  heads  soon  raised  themselves  once  more. 

The  stalks  were  blooming  as  before, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  287 


And  all  were  in  as  good  a  case 

As  when  they  left  their  native  place. 


So  felt  I,  when  I  wondering  heard 
My  song  to  foreign  tongues  transferred. 


SHOULD   E'ER   THE   LOVELESS   DAY. 

Should  e'er  the  loveless  day  remain 
Obscured  by  storms  of  hail  and  rain, 

Thy  charms  thou  showest  never  ; 
I  tap  at  window,  tap  at  door : 
Come,  loved  one,  come !  appear  once  more ! 

Thou  art  as  fair  as  ever  ! 


A   PLAN   THE    MUSES    ENTERTAINED. 

A  PLAN  the  Muses  entertaiued 

Methodically  to  impart 

To  Psyche  the  poetic  art ; 
Prosaic-pure  her  soul  remained, 
No  wondrous  sounds  escaped  her  lyre 

E'en  in  the  fairest  summer  night ; 
But  Amor  came  with  glance  of  fire,  — 

The  lesson  soon  was  learned  aright. 


THE    DEATH    OF    THE    FLY. 

With  eagerness  he  drinks  the  treacherous  potion, 
Nor  stops  to  rest,  by  the  first  taste  misled ; 

Sweet  is  the  draught,  but  soon  all  power  of  motion 
He  finds  has  from  his  tender  members  fled ; 


^88  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

No  longer  has  he  strength  to  plume  his  wing, 
No  longer  strength  to  raise  his  head,  poor  thing ! 
E'en  in  enjoyment's  hour  his  life  he  loses, 
His  little  foot  to  bear  his  weight  refuses ; 
So  on  he  sips,  and  ere  his  draught  is  o'er, 
Death  veils  his  thousand  eyes  for  evermore. 


BY    THE    EIVER 

When  by  the  broad  stream  thou  dost  dwell, 
Oft  shallow  is  its  sluggish  flood  ; 

Then,  when  thy  fields  thou  tendest  well. 
It  o'er  them  spreads  its  shme  and  mud. 

The  ships  descend  ere  daylight  wanes, 
The  prudent  fisher  upward  goes ; 

Round  reef  and  rock  ice  casts  its  chains. 
And  boys  at  will  the  pathway  close. 

To  this  attend,  then  carefully, 

And  what  thou  would,  that  execute ! 

Ne'er  hnger,  ne'er  o'erhasty  be. 

For  time  moves  on  with  measured  foot. 


Each  road  to  the  proper  end 
Euns  straight  on,  without  a  bend. 


THE    FOX    AND    THE    HUNTSMAN. 

Hard  'tis  on  a  fox's  traces 

To  arrive,  midst  forest-glades ; 

Hopeless  utterly  the  chase  is. 
If  his  flight  the  huntsman  aids. 


POEA\S  OF  GOETHE  289 

And  so  'tis  with  mauy  a  wouder 

(Why  A  B  make  Ah  in  fact), 
Over  which  we  gape  and  blunder, 

And  our  head  and  brains  distract. 


THE    FROGS. 

A  POOL  was  once  congealed  with  frost ; 
The  frogs  in  its  deep  waters  lost. 

No  longer  dared  to  croak  or  spring ; 
But  promised,  being  half  asleep. 
If  suffered  to  the  air  to  creep, 

As  very  nightingales  to  sing. 

A  thaw  dissolved  the  ice  so  strong,  — 
They  proudly  steered  themselves  along, 
When  landed,  squatted  on  the  shore, 
And  croaked  as  loudly  as  before.  • 

THE   WEDDING. 

A  FEAST  was  in  a  village  spread,  — 
It  was  a  wedding-day  they  said. 
The  parlour  of  the  inn  I  found, 
And  saw  the  couples  whirling  round, 
Each  lass  attended  by  her  lad, 
And  all  seemed  loving,  blithe,  and  glad ; 
But  on  my  asking  for  the  bride, 
A  fellow  with  a  stare  replied : 
"  'Tis  not  the  place  that  point  to  raise ! 

We're  only  dancing  in  her  honour ; 
We  now  have  danced  three  nights  and  days, 

And  not  bestowed  one  thought  upon  her." 


Wlioe'er  in  hfe  employs  his  eyes 
Such  cases  oft  will  recognise. 


290  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE    FOX    AND    CRANE. 

Once  two  persons  uninvited 
Came  to  join  my  dinner  table ; 

For  the  nonce  they  lived  united. 
Fox  and  crane  yclept  in  fable. 

Civil  greetings  passed  between  us ; 

Then  I  plucked  some  pigeons  tender 
For  the  fox  of  Jackal-genus, 

Adding  grapes  in  full-grown  splendour. 

Long-necked  flasks  I  put  as  dishes 
For  the  crane  without  delaying. 

Filled  with  gold  and  silver  fishes, 
In  the  limpid  water  playing. 

Had  ye  witnessed  Reynard  planted 

At  his  flat  plate  all  demurely, 
Ye  with  envy  must  have  granted : 
"Ne'er  was  such  a  gourmand,  surely!" 

While  the  bird,  with  circumspection, 
On  one  foot  as  usual  cradled, 

From  the  flask  his  fish-refection 
With  his  bill  and  long  neck  ladled. 


One  the  pigeons  praised,  —  the  other, 
As  they  went,  extolled  the  fishes. 

Each  one  scoffing  at  his  brother 
For  preferring  vulgar  dishes. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  29] 


If  thou  wouldst  preserve  thy  credit, 
When  thuu  askest  folks  to  guzzle 

At  thy  board,  take  care  to  spread  it 
Suited  both  for  bill  and  muzzle. 


BURIAL. 


To  the  grave  one  day  from  a  house  they  bore 

A  maiden ; 
To  the  window  the  citizens  went  to  explore ; 
In  splendour  they  lived,  and  with  wealth  as  of  yore 

Their  banquets  were  laden. 
Then  thought  they :  "  The  maid  to  the  tomb  is  now 

borne ; 
We  too  from  our  dwellings  ere  long  must  be  torn, 
And  he  that  is  left  our  departure  to  mourn, 
To  our  riches  will  be  the  successor. 
For  some  one  must  be  their  possessor." 


THE    BUYERS. 

To  an  apple-woman's  stall 

Once  some  children  nimbly  ran  ; 

Longing  much  to  purchase  all, 
They  with  joyous  haste  began 

Snatching  up  the  piles  there  raised. 

While  with  eager  eyes  they  gazed 

On  the  rosy  fruit  so  nice ; 

But  when  they  found  out  the  price, 

Down  they  threw  the  whole  they'd  got. 

Just  as  if  they  were  red  hot. 


The  man  who  gratis  will  his  goods  supply 
Will  never  find  a  lack  of  folks  to  buy  ! 


292  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


SYMBOLS. 


Palm  Sunday  at  the  Vatican 

They  celebrate  with  palms  ; 
With  reverence  bows  each  holy  man, 

And  chants  the  ancient  psalms. 
Those  very  psalms  are  also  sung 

With  olive  boughs  in  hand, 
While  holly,  mountain  wilds  among, 

In  place  of  palms  must  stand ; 
In  fine,  one  seeks  some  twig  that's  green, 

And  takes  a  willow  rod, 
So  that  the  pious  man  may  e'en 

In  small  things  praise  his  God. 
And  if  ye  have  observed  it  well, 

To  gain  what's  fit  ye're  able, 
If  ye  in  faith  can  but  excel ; 

Such  are  the  myths  of  fable. 


THREATENING    SIGNS. 

If  Venus  in  the  evening  sky 

Is  seen  in  radiant  majesty, 

If  rod-like  comets,  red  as  blood. 

Are  'mongst  the  constellations  viewed, 

Out  springs  the  Ignoramus,  yelling : 

"  The  star's  exactly  o'er  my  dwelling ! 
What  woeful  prospect,  ah,  for  me ! " 
Then  calls  his  neighbour  mournfully : 

"  Behold  that  awful  sign  of  evil, 
Portending  woe  to  me,  poor  devil ! 
My  mother's  asthma  ne'er  will  leave  her, 
My  child  is  sick  with  wind  and  fever ; 
I  dread  the  illness  of  my  wife, 
A  week  has  passed,  devoid  of  strife,  — 


POEA\S  OF  GOETHE  293 

And  other  things  have  reached  my  ear ; 
The  Judgment  Day  has  come,  I  fear ! " 

His  neighbour  answers  :  "  Friend,  you're  right ! 

Matters  look  very  bad  to-night. 

Let's  go  a  street  or  two,  though,  hence, 

And  gaze  upon  the  stars  from  thence."  — 

No  change  appears  in  either  case. 

Let  each  remain  then  in  his  place, 

And  wisely  do  the  best  he  can, 

Patient  as  any  other  man. 

THE   MOUNTAIN   VILLAGE. 

"  The  mountain  village  was  destroyed  ; 
But  see  how  soon  is  filled  the  void ! 
Shingles  and  boards,  as  by  magic  arise, 
The  babe  in  his  cradle  and  swaddling-clothes  lies ; 
How  blest  to  trust  to  God's  protection ! " 
Beliold  a  wooden  new  erection, 
So  that,  if  sparks  and  wind  but  choose, 
God's  self  at  such  a  game  must  lose ! 


In  the  world  do  things  go  with  you  ill, 
You  can't  do  right,  do  what  you  will. 

THREE    PALINODIAS. 

I. 

"  Incense  is  but  a  tribute  for  the  gods,  — 
To  mortals  'tis  but  poison." 

The  smoke  that  from  thine  altar  blows, 

Can  it  the  gods  offend  ? 
For  I  observe  thou  hold'st  thy  nose  — 

Pray  what  does  this  portend  ? 


294  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Mankind  deem  incense  to  excel 

Each  other  earthly  thing, 
So  he  that  cannot  bear  its  smell, 

No  incense  e'er  should  bring. 

With  unmoved  face  by  thee  at  least 

To  dolls  is  homage  given ; 
If  not  obstructed  by  the  priest, 

The  scent  mounts  up  to  heaven. 

II. 

CONFLICT    OF    WIT    AND    BEAUTY. 

SiK  Wit,  who  is  so  much  esteemed. 
And  who  is  worthy  of  all  honour. 

Saw  Beauty  his  superior  deemed 

By  folks  who  loved  to  gaze  upon  her ; 

At  this  he  was  most  sorely  vexed. 

Then  came  Sir  Breath  (long  known  as  fit 
To  represent  the  cause  of  vdt), 
Beginning,  rudely,  I  admit. 

To  treat  the  lady  with  a  text. 

To  this  she  hearkened  not  at  all, 

But  hastened  to  his  principal : 
"  None  are  so  wise,  they  say,  as  you,  — 

Is  not  the  world  enough  for  two  ? 

If  you  are  obstinate,  good-bye  ! 

If  wise,  to  love  me  you  vsdll  try. 

For  be  assured  the  world  can  ne'er 

Give  birth  to  a  more  handsome  pair." 

Fair  daughters  were  by  beauty  reared, 
Wit  had  but  dull  sons  for  his  lot ; 

So  for  a  season  it  appeared 

Beauty  was  constant,  Wit  was  not. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  295 

But  Wit's  a  native  of  the  soil, 

So  he  returned,  worked,  strove  amain, 

And  found  —  sweet  guerdon  for  his  toil  !  — 
Beauty  to  quicken  him  again. 

III. 

RAIN    AND    RAINBOW. 

During  a  heavy  storm  it  chanced 

That  from  his  room  a  cockney  glanced 

At  the  fierce  tempest  as  it  broke. 

While  to  his  neighbour  thus  he  spoke : 
"  The  thunder  has  our  awe  inspired, 

Our  barns  by  lightning  have  been  fired,  — 

Our  sins  to  punish,  I  suppose  ; 

But,  in  return,  to  soothe  our  woes. 

See  how  the  raiu  in  torrents  fell. 

Making  the  harvest  promise  well ! 

But  is't  a  rainbow  that  I  spy 

Extending  o'er  the  dark-gray  sky  ? 

With  it  I'm  sure  we  may  dispense, 

The  coloured  cheat !     The  vain  pretence !  " 

Dame  Iris  straightway  thus  replied : 
"  Dost  dare  my  beauty  to  deride  ? 

In  realms  of  space  God  stationed  me 

A  type  of  better  worlds  to  be 

To  eyes  that  from  life's  sorrows  rove 

In  cheerful  hope  to  Heaven  above, 

And  through  the  mists  that  hover  here 

God  and  His  precepts  blest  revere. 

Do  thou,  then,  grovel  hke  the  swine. 

And  to  the  ground  thy  snout  confine 

But  suffer  the  enlightened  eye 

To  feast  upon  my  majesty." 


296  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


A  SYMBOL. 

[This  fine  poem  is  given  by  Goethe  amongst  a  small  collection 
of  what  he  calls  Loge  (Lodge)  meaning  thereby  Masonic  pieces.] 

The  mason's  trade 

Eesembles  life, 

With  all  its  strife,  — 
Is  like  the  stir  made 

By  man  on  earth's  face. 


Though  weal  and  woe 
The  future  may  hide, 
Unterrified 

We  onward  go 

In  ne'er-changing  race. 


A  veil  of  dread 

Hangs  heavier  still. 

Deep  slumbers  fill 
The  stars  overhead, 

And  the  foot-trodden  grave. 

Observe  them  well, 

And  watch  them  revealing 
How  solemn  feehng 

And  wonderment  swell 
The  hearts  of  the  brave. 


The  voice  of  the  blest, 
And  of  spirits  on  high 
Seems  loudly  to  cry  : 
"  To  do  what  is  best. 

Unceasing  endeavour ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  297 

"  In  silence  eterne 

Here  chaplets  are  twined, 
That  each  noble  mind 
Its  guerdon  may  earn,  — 
Then  hope  ye  for  ever ! " 


VALEDICTION. 

I  ONCE  was  fond  of  fools, 

And  bid  them  come  each  day ; 
Then  each  one  brought  his  tools, 

The  carpenter  to  play  ; 
The  roof  to  strip  first  choosing, 

Another  to  supply, 
The  wood  as  trestles  using, 

To  move  it  by-and-by. 
While  here  and  there  they  ran, 

And  knocked  against  each  other ; 
To  fret  I  soon  began, 

My  anger  could  not  smother, 
So  cried,  "  Get  out,  ye  fools ! " 

At  this  they  were  offended ; 
Then  each  one  took  his  tools, 

And  so  our  friendship  ended. 

Since  that  I've  wiser  been, 

And  sit  beside  my  door ; 
When  one  of  them  is  seen, 

I  cry,  "  Appear  no  more  ! " 
"  Hence,  stupid  knave  ! "  I  bellow : 

At  this  he's  angry,  too  : 
"  You  impudent  old  fellow  ' 

And  pray,  sir,  who  are  you  ? 
Along  the  streets  we  riot. 

And  revel  at  the  fair  : 


298  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

But  yet  we're  pretty  quiet, 
And  folks  revile  us  ne'er. 
Don't  call  us  names,  then,  please ! " 
At  length  I  meet  with  ease, 
For  now  they  leave  my  door  — 
'Tis  better  than  before ! 


THE  COUNTRY  SCHOOLMASTER. 

I. 

A  MASTER  of  a  country  school 

Jumped  up  one  day  from  off  his  stool 

Inspired  with  firm  resolve  to  try 

To  gain  the  best  society  ; 

So  to  the  nearest  baths  he  walked, 

And  into  the  saloon  he  stalked. 

He  felt  quite  startled  at  the  door. 

Ne'er  having  seen  the  like  before. 

To  the  first  stranger  made  he  now 

A  very  low  and  graceful  bow. 

But  quite  forgot  to  bear  in  mind 

That  people  also  stood  behind ; 

His  left-hand  neighbour's  paunch  he  struck 

A  grievous  blow  by  great  ill  luck ; 

Pardon  for  this  he  first  entreated, 

And  then  in  haste  his  bow  repeated. 

His  right-hand  neighbour  next  he  hit, 

And  begged  him,  too,  to  pardon  it ; 

But  on  his  granting  his  petition, 

Another  was  in  like  condition ; 

These  comphments  he  paid  to  all. 

Behind,  before,  across  the  hall ; 

At  length  one  who  could  stand  no  more 

Showed  him  impatiently  the  door. 


POEMS   OF  GOETHE  299 

May  many,  pondering  on  their  crimes, 
A  moral  draw  from  this  betimes ! 


II. 

As  he  proceeded  on  his  way 

He  thought,  "  I  was  too  weak  to-day ; 

To  bow  I'll  ne'er  again  be  seen ; 

For  goats  will  swallow  what  is  green." 

Across  the  fields  he  now  must  speed. 

Not  over  stumps  and  stones,  indeed. 

But  over  meads  and  cornfields  sweet, 

Trampling  down  all  w^th  clumsy  feet. 

A  farmer  met  him  by-and-by. 

And  didn't  ask  him  :  how  ?  or  why  ? 

But  with  his  fist  saluted  him. 

"  I  feel  new  life  in  every  limb  !  " 
Our  traveller  cried  in  ecstasy. 

"  Who  art  thou  who  thus  gladden'st  me  ? 
May  Heaven  such  blessings  ever  send  1 
Ne'er  may  I  want  a  jovial  friend ! " 


THE   LEGEND   OF   THE   HORSESHOE. 

When  still  unknown,  and  low  as  well. 
Our  Lord  upon  the  earth  did  dwell. 
And  many  disciples  with  him  went 
Who  seldom  knew  what  his  words  meant, 
He  was  extremely  fond  of  holding 
His  court  in  the  market-place,  unfolding 
The  highest  precepts  to  their  hearing. 
With  holy  mouth  and  heart  unfolding ; 
For  man,  in  Heaven's  face  when  preaching, 
Adds  freedom's  strength  unto  his  teaching  ! 


300  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

By  parables  and  by  example, 
He  made  each  market-place  a  temple. 
He  thus  in  peace  of  mind  one  day 
To  some  small  town  with  them  did  stray, 
Saw  something  ghtter  in  the  street, 
A  broken  horseshoe  lay  at  his  feet. 
He  then  to  Peter  turned  and  said : 
"  Pick  up  that  iron  in  my  stead." 
St.  Peter  out  of  humour  was, 
Having  in  dreams  indulged  because 
All  men  on  thoughts  so  like  to  dwell, 
How  they  the  world  would  govern  well ; 
Here  fancy  revels  without  bounds ; 
On  this  his  dearest  thoughts  he  founds. 
This  treasure-trove  he  quite  despised. 
But  crowned  sceptre  he'd  have  prized ; 
And  why  should  he  now  bend  his  back 
To  put  old  iron  in  his  sack  ? 
He  turned  aside  with  outward  show 
As  though  he  heard  none  speaking  so ! 

The  Lord,  to  his  long-suffering  true, 

Himself  picked  up  the  horse's  shoe. 

And  of  it  made  no  further  mention, 

But  to  the  town  walked  with  intention 

Of  going  to  a  blacksmith's  door, 

Who  gave  one  farthing  for  his  store. 

And  now,  when  through  the  market  strolling, 

Cherries  some  one  he  heard  extolling. 

Of  these  he  bought  as  few  or  many 

As  farthing  buys,  if  it  buy  any, 

Which  he,  in  wonted  peacefulness, 

Gently  within  his  sleeve  did  press. 

Now  out  at  t'other  gate  they'd  gone 
Past  fields  and  meadows,  houses  none ; 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  301 

The  road  likewise  of  trees  was  bare, 
The  sun  shone  bright  with  ardent  glare, 
So  that  great  price,  in  plain  thus  stretched, 
A  drink  of  water  would  have  fetched. 
The  Lord,  walking  before  them  all, 
Let  unawares  a  cherry  fall. 
St.  Peter  ate  it,  then  and  there, 
As  though  a  golden  apple  it  were. 
He  relished  much  the  luscious  fruit. 
The  Lord,  whenever  time  would  suit, 
Another  cherry  forward  sent. 
For  which  St.  Peter  swiftly  bent. 
The  Lord  thus  often  and  again 
After  the  cherries  made  him  strain. 
When  this  had  lasted  quite  awhile, 
The  Lord  spoke  thus  with  cheerful  smile : 
"  If  thou  hadst  stirred  when  first  I  bade  thee, 
More  comfortable  'twould  have  made  thee ; 
Whoe'er  small  things  too  much  disdains, 
For  smaller  ones  takes  greater  pains." 


THE   WANDEEER. 

[Published  in  the  Gottingeu  Musen  Almanack,  having  been 
written  "to  express  his  feelings  and  caprices"  after  his  separa- 
tion from  Frederica.] 

"WANDERER. 

Young  woman,  may  God  bless  thee. 

Thee,  and  the  sucking  infant 

Upon  thy  breast ! 

Let  rae,  against  this  rocky  wall, 

Neath  the  elm-tree's  shadow, 

Lay  aside  my  burden, 

Near  thee  take  my  rest. 


302  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

WOMA.N. 

What  vocation  leads  thee, 

While  the  day  is  burning, 

Up  this  dusty  path  ? 

Bring' st  thou  goods  from  out  the  town 

Round  the  country  ? 

Smilest  thou,  stranger, 

At  my  question  ? 


WANDERER. 

From  the  town  no  goods  I  bring. 
Cool  is  now  the  evening ; 
Show  to  me  the  fountain 
Whence  thou  drinkest. 
Woman  young  and  kind  ! 


WOMAN. 

Up  the  rocky  pathway  mount ; 

Go  thou  first  ?     Across  the  thicket 

Leads  the  pathway  toward  the  cottage 

That  I  hve  in, 

To  me  the  fountain 

Whence  I  drink. 


WANDERER. 

Signs  of  man's  arranging  hand 
See  I  'mid  the  trees  ! 
Not  by  thee  these  stones  were  joined, 
Nature,  who  so  freely  scattered  ! 


WOMAN. 

Up,  still  up ! 


POEAIS  OF  GOETHE  303 

WANDERER. 

Lo,  a  mossy  architrave  is  here ! 

I  discern  thee,  fashioning  spirit  ? 

On  the  stone  thou  hast  impressed  thy  seaL 


WOMAN. 

Onward,  stranger ! 

WANDERER. 

Over  an  inscription  am  I  treading  ! 

'Tis  effaced ! 

Ye  are  seen  no  longer. 

Words  so  deeply  graven, 

Who  your  master's  true  devotion 

Should  have  shown  to  thousand  grandsons. 

WOMAN. 

At  these  stones  why 
Start'st  thou,  stranger  ? 
Many  stones  are  lying  yonder 
Eound  my  cottage. 

WANDERER. 

Yonder  ? 

WOMAN. 

Through  the  thicket, 
Turning  to  the  left, 
Here  ! 

WANDERER. 

Ye  Muses  and  ye  Graces ! 


304  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

WOMAN. 

This,  then,  is  my  cottage. 

WANDERER. 

'Tis  a  ruined  temple !  ^ 

WOMAN. 

Just  below  you  it,  see, 
Springs,  the  fountain 
Whence  I  drink. 

WANDERER. 

Thou  dost  hover 

O'er  thy  grave,  all  glowing. 

Genius !  while  upon  thee 

Hath  thy  masterpiece  . 

Fallen  crumbling, 

Thou  Immortal  One ! 

WOMAN. 

Stay,  a  cup  I'll  fetch  thee 
Whence  to  drink. 

WANDERER. 

Ivy  circles  thy  slender 
Form  so  graceful  and  godlike. 

1  Compare  with  the  beautiful  description  contained  in  the  sub- 
sequent lines,  an  account  of  a  ruined  temple  of  Ceres,  given  by 
Chamberlayne  in  his  "  Pharonnida"  (published  in  1659) :  — 

"...  With  mournful  majesty 
A  heap  of  solitary  ruins  lie. 
Half  sepulchred  in  dust,  the  bankrupt  heir 
To  prodigal  antiquity  ..." 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  305 

How  ye  rise  011  high 

From  the  ruins, 

Column-pair ! 

And  thou,  their  lonely  sister  yonder,  — 

How  thou, 

Dusky  moss  upon  thy  sacred  head,  — 

Lookest  down  in  mournful  majesty 

On  thy  brethren's  figures, 

Lying  scattered 

At  thy  feet ! 

In  the  shadow  of  the  bramble 

Earth  and  rubbish  veil  them. 

Lofty  grass  is  waving  o'er  them ! 

Is  it  thus  thou.  Nature,  prizest 

Thy  great  masterpiece's  masterpiece  ? 

Carelessly  destroyest  thou 

Thine  own  sanctuary, 

Sowing  thistles  there  ? 

WOMAN. 

How  the  infant  sleeps  ! 

Wilt  thou  rest  thee  in  the  cottage, 

Stranger  ?     Wouldst  thou  rather 

In  the  open  air  still  linger  ? 

Now  'tis  cool !  take  thou  the  child. 

While  I  go  and  draw  some  water. 

Sleep  on,  darhug !  sleep ! 


WANDKUKR. 

Sweet  is  thy  repose  ! 

How,  with  heaven-born  health  imbued, 

Peacefully  he  slumbers ! 

O  thou,  born  among  the  ruins 

Spread  by  great  antiquity, 

On  thee  rest  her  spirit ! 

He  whom  it  encircles 


3o6  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Will,  in  godlike  consciousness. 

Every  day  enjoy. 

Full  of  germ,  unfold 

As  the  smiling  spring-time's 

Fairest  charm. 

Outshining  all  thy  fellows  ! 

And  when  the  blossom's  husk  is  faded, 

May  the  full  fruit  shoot  forth 

From  out  thy  breast. 

And  ripen  in  the  sunshine ! 

WOMAN. 

God  bless  him  !  —  Is  he  sleeping  still  ? 
To  the  fresh  draught  I  nought  can  add. 
Saving  a  crust  of  bread  for  thee  to  eat. 

WANDERER. 

I  thank  thee  well. 

How  fair  the  verdure  all  around. 

How  green ! 

WOMAN. 

My  husband  soon 

Will  home  return 

From  labour.     Tarry,  tarry,  man, 

And  with  us  eat  our  evening  meaL 

WANDERER. 

Is  it  here  ye  dwell  ? 

WOMAN. 

Yonder,  within  those  walls,  we  live. 
My  father  'twas  who  built  the  cottage 
Of  tiles  and  stones  from  out  the  ruins. 
'Tis  here  we  dwell. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  307 

He  gave  me  to  a  husbandman, 

And  in  our  arms  expired.  — 

Hast  thou  been  sleeping,  dearest  heart  ? 

How  lively,  and  how  full  of  play. 

Sweet  rogue ! 

WANDERER. 

Nature,  thou  ever  budding  one, 

Thou  formest  each  for  life's  enjoyments, 

And,  like  a  mother,  all  thy  children  dear 

Blessest  with  that  sweet  heritage,  —  a  home. 

The  swallow  builds  the  cornice  round, 

Unconscious  of  the  beauties 

She  plasters  up. 

The  caterpillar  spins  around  the  bough, 

To  make  her  brood  a  winter  house ; 

And  thou  dost  patch,  between  antiquity's 

Most  glorious  relics, 

For  thy  mean  use, 

O  man,  a  humble  cot,  — 

En  joy  est  e'en  mid  tombs ! 

Farewell,  thou  happy  woman ! 

WOMAN. 

Thou  wilt  not  stay,  then  ? 

WANDERER. 

May  God  preserve  thee, 
And  bless  thy  boy  ! 

WOMAN. 

A  happy  journey ! 

WANDERER. 

Whither  conducts  the  path 
Across  yon  hill  ? 


3o8  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

WOMAN. 
To  Cuma. 

WANDERER. 

How  far  from  hence  ? 

WOMAN. 

'Tis  full  three  miles. 

WANDERER. 

Farewell ! 

O  Nature,  guide  me  on  my  way  I 

The  wandering  stranger  guide, 

Who  o'er  the  tombs 

Of  holy  bygone  times 

Is  passing, 

To  a  kind  sheltering  place, 

From  North  winds  safe, 

And  where  a  poplar  grove 

Shuts  out  the  noontide  ray ! 

And  when  I  come 

Home  to  my  cot 

At  evening, 

Illumined  by  the  setting  sun, 

Let  me  embrace  a  wife  like  this, 

Her  mfant  in  her  arms ! 

THE   DROPS    OF   NECTAR. 

When  Minerva,  to  give  pleasure 
To  Prometheus,  her  well-loved  one, 
Brought  a  brimming  bowl  of  nectar 
From  the  glorious  realms  of  heaven 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  309 

As  a  blessing  for  his  creatures, 
And  to  pour  into  their  bosoms 
Impulses  for  arts  ennobling, 
She  with  rapid  footstep  hastened, 
Fearing  Jupiter  might  see  her, 
And  the  golden  goblet  trembled, 
And  there  fell  a  few  drops  from  it 
On  the  verdant  plain  beneath  her. 
Then  the  busy  bees  flew  thither 
Straightway,  eagerly  to  drink  them, 
And  the  butterfly  came  quickly 
That  he,  too,  might  find  a  drop  there ; 
Even  the  misshapen  spider 
Thither  crawled  and  sucked  with  vigour. 

To  a  happy  end  they  tasted, 
They,  and  other  gentle  insects ! 
For  with  mortals  now  divide  they 
Art  —  that  noblest  gift  of  all. 


LOVE   AS   A    LANDSCAPE    PAINTER. 

On  a  rocky  peak  once  sat  I  early. 
Gazing  on  the  mist  with  eyes  unmoving ; 
Stretched  out  like  a  pall  of  grayish  texture. 
All  things  round,  and  all  above  it  covered. 


Suddenly  a  boy  appeared  beside  me. 
Saying  "  Friend,  what  meanest  thou  by  gazing 
On  the  vacant  pall  with  such  composure  ? 
Hast  thou  lost  for  evermore  all  pleasure 
Both  in  painting  cunningly,  and  forming  ? " 
On  the  child  I  gazed,  and  thought  in  secret : 
'  Would  the  boy  pretend  to  be  a  master  ? " 


3IO  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

"  Wouldst  thou  be  for  ever  dull  and  idle," 
Said  the  boy,  "  no  wisdom  thou'lt  attain  to ; 
See,  I'll  straightway  paint  for  thee  a  figure,  — 
How  to  paint  a  beauteous  figure,  show  thee." 

And  he  then  extended  his  forefinger  — 
(Euddy  was  it  as  a  youthful  rosebud) 
Toward  the  broad  and  far  outstretching  carpet, 
And  began  to  draw  there  with  his  finger. 

First  on  high  a  radiant  sun  he  painted, 
Which  upon  mine  eyes  with  splendour  glistened, 
And  he  made  the  clouds  with  golden  border. 
Through  the  clouds  he  let  the  sunbeams  enter ; 

Painted  then  the  soft  and  feathery  summits 
Of  the  fresh  and  quickened  trees ;  behind  them 
One  by  one  with  freedom  drew  the  mountains ; 
Underneath  he  left  no  lack  of  water, 
But  the  river  painted  so  like  Nature, 
That  it  seemed  to  glitter  in  the  sunbeams, 
That  it  seemed  against  its  banks  to  murmur. 


"O*- 


Ah,  there  blossomed  flowers  beside  the  river. 
And  bright  colours  gleamed  upon  the  meadow, 
Gold,  and  green,  and  purple,  and  enamelled. 
All  hke  carbuncles  and  emeralds  seeming 


^O  ' 


Bright  and  clear  he  added  then  the  heavens, 
And  the  blue-tinged  mountains  far  and  farther. 
So  that  I,  as  though  new-born,  enraptured 
Gazed  on  now  the  painter,  now  the  picture. 

Then  spake  he :  "  Although  I  have  convinced  thee 
That  this  art  I  understand  full  surely. 
Yet  the  hardest  still  is  left  to  show  thee." 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  311 

Thereupon  he  traced  with  pointed  finger, 

And  with  anxious  care,  upon  the  forest. 

At  the  utmost  verge,  where  the  strong  sunbeams 

From  the  shining  ground  appeared  reflected, 

Traced  the  figure  of  a  lovely  maiden, 

Fair  in  form,  and  clad  in  graceful  fashion ; 

Fresh  the  cheeks  beneath  her  brown  locks'  ambush, 

And  the  cheeks  possessed  the  self-same  colour 

As  the  finger  that  had  served  to  paint  them. 

"  0  thou  boy  !  "  exclaimed  I  then,  "  what  master 
In  his  school  received  thee  as  his  pupil, 
Teaching  thee  so  truthfully  and  quickly 
Wisely  to  begin,  and  well  to  finish  ? " 

Whilst  I  still  was  speaking,  lo,  a  zephyr 
Softly  rose,  and  set  the  tree-tops  moving, 
Curling  all  the  wavelets  on  the  river, 
And  the  perfect  maiden's  veil,  too,  filled  it, 
And  to  make  my  wonderment  still  greater, 
Soon  the  maiden  set  her  foot  in  motion. 
On  she  came,  approaching  toward  the  station 
Where  still  sat  I  with  my  arch  instructor. 

As  now  all,  yes,  all  thus  moved  together, — 
Flowers,  rivers,  trees,  the  veil,  —  all  moving,  — 
And  the  gentle  foot  of  that  most  fair  one, 
Can  ye  think  that  on  my  rock  I  lingered. 
Like  a  rock,  as  though  fast-chained  and  silent  ? 


312  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

GOD,    SOUL,   AND   WOELD. 

RHYMED    DISTICHS. 

[The  Distichs,  of  which  these  are  given  as  a  specimen,  are  about 
forty  in  number.] 

How  ?    when  ?    and  where  ?  —  No  answer  comes  from 

high; 
Thou  waitest  for  the  Because,  and  yet  thou  askest  not 

Why  ? 

If  the  whole  is  ever  to  gladden  thee. 

That  whole  in  the  smallest  thing  thou  must  see. 

Water  its  living  strength  first  shows, 
When  obstacles  its  course  oppose. 

Transparent  appears  the  radiant  air. 

Though  steel  and  stone  in  its  breast  it  may  bear ; 

At  length  they'll  meet  with  fiery  power. 

And  metal  and  stones  on  the  earth  will  shower. 

Whate'er  a  living  flame  may  surround. 
No  longer  is  shapeless,  or  earthly  bound. 
'Tis  now  invisible,  flies  from  earth. 
And  hastens  on  high  to  the  place  of  its  birth, 

This  truth  may  be  by  all  believed  : 
Whom  God  deceives,  is  well  deceived. 


Who  trusts  in  God, 
Fears  not  His  rod. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  313 


THE   METAMOEPHOSIS  OF   PLANTS. 

Thou  art  confused,  my  beloved,  at  seeing  the  thousand- 
fold union 
Shown  in  this  flowery  troop  over  the  garden  dis- 
persed ; 
Many   a   name   dost    thou    hear    assigned ;    one    after 
another 
Falls  on  thy  listening  ear,  with  a  barbarian  sound. 
None  resembleth  another,  yet  all  their  forms  have  a 
Hkeness ; 
Therefore   a    mystical    law   is    by   the   chorus    pro- 
claimed ; 
Yes,  a  sacred  enigma !    Oh,  dearest  friend,  could  I  only 
Happily  teach  thee  the  word,  which  may  the  mys- 
tery solve ! 
Closely  observe  how  the  plant,  by  little  and  little  pro- 
gressing, 
Step  by  step  guided  on,  changeth  to  blossom  and 
fruit ! 
First  from  the  seed  it  unravels  itself,  as  soon  as  the 
silent 
Fruit-bearing  womb  of  the  earth  kindly  allows  its 
escape. 
And  to  the  charms  of  the  light,  the  holy,  the  ever-in- 
motion, 
Trusteth  the  delicate    leaves,   feebly  beginning   to 
shoot. 
Simply  slumbered  the  force  in  the  seed ;  a  germ  of  the 
future, 
Peacefully  locked  in  itself,  'neath  the  integument 

lay, 

Leaf,  and  root,  and  bud,  still  void  of  colour,  and  shape- 
less; 
Thus  doth  the  kernel,  while  dry,  cover  that  motion- 
less life. 


314  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Upward  then  strives  it  to  swell,  in  gentle  moisture 
confiding, 
And,  from   the  night  where  it  dwelt,  straightway 
ascendeth  to  light. 
Yet  still  simple  remaineth  its  figure,  when  first  it  ap- 
peareth ; 
And  'tis  a  token  like  this,  points  out  the  child  'mid 
the  plants. 
Soon  a  shoot,  succeeding   it,  rises    on   high,  and    re- 
neweth, 
Piling  up  node  upon  node,  ever  the  primitive  form ; 
Yet  not  ever  alike;  for  the  following  leaf,  as  thou 
seest, 
Ever  produceth  itself,  fashioned  in  manifold  ways. 
Longer,  more  indented,  in  points  and   in  parts  more 
divided, 
Which,  all-deformed  until  now,  slept  in  the  organ 
below. 
So  at  length  it  attaineth  the  noble  and  destined  per- 
fection, 
Which,  in  full  many  a  tribe,  fills  thee  with  wonder- 
ing awe. 
Many   ribbed    and    toothed,    on    a   surface    juicy   and 
swelling. 
Free  and    unending   the  shoot   seemeth  in  fulness 
to  be ; 
Yet  here  Nature  restraineth,  with  powerful  hands,  the 
formation. 
And    to    a    perfect   end,   guided    with    softness   its 
growth, 
Less    abundantly    yielding    the    sap,    contracting    the 
vessels, 
So  that  the  figure  ere  long  gentler  effects  doth  dis- 
close. 
Soon  and  in  silence  is  checked  the  growth  of  the  vig- 
orous branches, 
And  the  rib  of  the  stalk  fuller  becometh  in  form. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  315 

Leafless,  however,  and  quick  the  tenderer  stem  then 
upspringeth, 
And  a  miraculous  sight  doth  the  observer  enchant. 
Eanged  in  a  circle  in  numbers  that  now  are  small,  and 
now  countless, 
Gather  the  small-sized  leaves   close  by  the  side  of 
their  like. 
Eouud  the  axis  compressed  the  sheltering  calyx  un- 
foldeth. 
And,  as  the  perfectest  type,  brilhant-hued  coronals 
forms. 
Thus   doth   Nature  bloom,   in  glory  still   nobler   and 
fuller, 
Showing,  in   order    arranged,  member    on    member 
upreared. 
Wonderment  fresh  dost  thou  feel,  as  soon  as  the  stem 
rears  the  flower 
Over  the  scaffolding  frail  of  the  alternating  leaves. 
But  this  glory  is  only  the  new  creation's  foreteller. 
Yes,  the  leaf  with  its  hues  feeleth  the  hand  all 
divine. 
And  on   a  sudden    contracteth    itself  ;    the    tenderest 
figures. 
Twofold  as    yet,  hasten  on,  destined  to  blend   into 
one. 
Lovingly   now   the   beauteous    pairs  are   standing  to- 
gether. 
Gathered  in  countless  array,  there  where  the  altar  is 
raised. 
Hymen  hovereth  o'er  them,  and  scents  delicious  and 
mighty 
Stream    forth    their    fragrance  so  sweet,    all  things 
enlivening  around. 
Presently,  parcelled  out,  unnumbered  germs  are  seen 
swelling, 
Sweetly  concealed  in  the  womb,  where  is  made  per- 
fect the  fruit. 


3i6  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Here  doth  Nature  close  the  ring  of  her  forces  eternal ; 
Yet  doth  a  new  one,  at  once,  chng  to  the  one  gone 
before. 
So  that  the  chain  be  prolonged  for  ever  through  all 
generations. 
And  that  the  whole  may  have  life,  e'en  as  enjoyed 
by  each  part. 
Now,  my  beloved  one,  turn  thy  gaze  on  the  many-hued 
thousands 
Whicli,  confusing  no  more,  gladden  the  mind  as  they 
wave. 
Every  plant  unto  thee  proclaimeth  the  laws  everlasting, 

Every  floweret  speaks  louder  and  louder  to  thee ; 
But  if  thou  here  canst  decipher  the  mystic  words  of 
the  goddess, 
Everywhere  will  they  be  seen,  e'en  though  the  fea- 
tures are  changed. 
Creeping    insects    may    linger,    the    eager    butterfly 
hasten,  — 
Plastic  and  forming,  may  man  change  e'en  the  figure 
decreed. 
Oh,  then,  bethink  thee,  as  well,  how  out  of  the  germ 
of  acquaintance, 
Kindly    intercourse    sprang,    slowly    unfolding  its 
leaves; 
Soon  how  friendship  with  might  unveiled  itself  in  our 
bosoms, 
And  how  Amor  at  length  brought  forth  blossom  and 
fruit ! 
Think  of  the  manifold  ways  wherein  Nature  hath  lent 
to  our  feelings, 
Silently  giving  them   birth,  either  the  first  or  the 
last! 
Yes,  and  rejoice  in  the  present  day  !     For  love  that  is 
holy 
Seeketh  the  noblest   of    fruits,  —  that    where    the 
thoughts  are  the  same, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  317 

Where  the  opinions  agree,  —  that  the  pair  may,  ui  rapt 
contemplation. 
Lovingly  blend  into  one,  —  find  the  more  excellent 
world. 


RELIGION  AND  CHURCH. 

THOUGHTS    ON   JESUS    CHEIST'S   DESCENT   INTO   HELL. 

[The  remarkable  poem,  of  which  this  is  a  literal  but  faint  repre- 
sentation, was  written  when  Goethe  was  only  sixteen  years  old. 
It  derives  additional  interest  from  the  fact  of  its  being  the  very 
earliest  piece  of  his  that  is  preserved.  The  few  other  pieces  in- 
cluded by  Goethe  under  the  title  of  "Religion  and  Church"  are 
polemical,  and  devoid  of  interest  to  the  English  reader.] 

What  wondrous  noise  is  heard  around ! 
Through  heaven  exulting  voices  sound, 

A  mighty  army  marches  on. 
By  thousand  millions  followed,  lo, 
To  yon  dark  place  makes  haste  to  go 

God's  Son,  descending  from  His  throne ! 
He  goes  —  the  tempests  round  Him  break. 

As  Judge  and  Hero  cometh  He ; 
He  goes  —  the  constellations  quake, 

The  sun,  the  world  quake  fearfully. 

I  see  Him  in  His  victor-car, 
On  fiery  axles  borne  afar, 

Wlio  on  the  cross  for  us  expired. 
The  triumph  to  yon  realms  He  shows,  — 
Remote  from  earth,  where  star  ne'er  glows,  — 

The  triumph  He  for  us  acquired. 
He  cometh,  Hell  to  extirpate, 

Whom  He,  by  dying  well-nigh  killed ; 
He  shall  pronounce  her  fearful  fate  ; 

Hark  !  now  the  curse  is  straight  fulfilled. 


3i8  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Hell  sees  the  victor  come  at  last, 
She  feels  that  now  her  reign  is  past, 

She  quakes  and  fears  to  meet  His  sight ; 
She  knows  His  thunders'  terrors  dread. 
In  vain  she  seeks  to  hide  her  head, 

Attempts  to  fly,  but  vain  is  flight ; 
Vainly  she  hastes  to  'scape  pursuit 

And  to  avoid  her  Judge's  eye  ; 
The  Lord's  fierce  wrath  restrains  her  foot 

Like  brazen  chains,  —  she  cannot  fly. 

Here  lies  the  Dragon,  trampled  down. 
He  lies,  and  feels  God's  angry  frown, 

He  feels,  and  griuneth  hideously  ; 
He  feels  Hell's  speechless  agonies, 
A  thousand  times  he  howls  and  sighs : 
"  Oh,  burning  flames !  quick,  swallow  me  ! " 
There  lies  he  in  the  fiery  waves. 

By  torments  racked  and  pangs  infernal. 
Instant  annihilation  craves, 

And  hears,  those  pangs  will  be  eternal. 

Those  mighty  squadrons,  too,  are  here, 
The  partners  of  his  cursed  career. 

Yet  far  less  bad  than  he  were  they. 
Here  lies  the  countless  throng  combined, 
In  black  and  fearful  crowds  entwined. 

While  round  him  fiery  tempests  play  ; 
He  sees  how  they  the  Judge  avoid. 

He  sees  the  storm  upon  them  feed, 
Yet  is  not  at  the  sight  o'erjoyed. 

Because  his  pangs  e'en  theirs  exceed. 

The  Son  of  Man  in  triumph  passes 
Down  to  Hell's  wild  and  black  morasses, 

And  there  unfolds  His  majesty. 
Hell  cannot  bear  the  bright  array. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  319 

For,  since  her  first  created  day, 

Darkness  alone  e'er  governed  she. 
She  lay  remote  from  ev'ry  light, 

With  torments  filled  in  Chaos  here : 
God  turned  for  ever  from  her  sight 

His  radiant  feature's  glory  clear. 

Within  the  realms  she  calls  her  own, 
She  sees  the  splendour  of  the  Son, 

His  dreaded  glories  shining  forth ; 
She  sees  Him  clad  in  rolhng  thunder, 
She  sees  the  rocks  all  quake  with  wonder, 

When  God  before  her  stands  in  vn-ath. 
She  sees  He  comes  her  Judge  to  be, 

She  feels  the  awful  pangs  inside  her. 
Herself  to  slay  endeavours  she. 

But  e'en  this  comfort  is  denied  her. 


Now  looks  she  back,  with  pains  untold, 
Upon  those  happy  times  of  old. 

When  all  these  glories  gave  her  joy  ; 
When  yet  her  heart  revered  the  truth, 
When  her  glad  soul  in  endless  youth 

And  rapture  dwelt,  without  alloy. 
She  calls  to  mind  with  maddened  thought 

How  over  man  her  wiles  prevailed ; 
To  take  revenge  on  God  she  sought. 

And  feels  the  vengeance  it  entailed. 

God  was  made  man,  and  came  to  earth. 
Then  Satan  cried  with  fearful  mirth : 
"  E'en  He  my  victim  now  shall  be  !  " 
He  sought  to  slay  the  Lord  Most  High, 
The  world's  Creator  now  must  die ; 
But,  Satan,  endless  woe  to  thee ! 


320  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Thou  thought'st  to  overcome  Him  then, 

Kejoicing  in  His  suffering : 
But  He  in  triumph  comes  again 

To  bind  thee :  Death  !  where  is  thy  sting  ? 

Speak,  Hell !  where  is  thy  victory  ? 
Thy  power  destroyed  and  scattered  see  ! 

Know'st  thou  not  now  the  Highest's  might  ? 
See,  Satan,  see  thy  rule  o'erthrown ! 
By  thousand-varying  pangs  weighed  down, 

Thou  dwell'st  in  dark  and  endless  night. 
As  though  by  lightning  struck  thou  hest, 

No  gleam  of  rapture  far  or  wide  ; 
In  vain  !  no  hope  thou  there  descriest,  — 

For  me  alone  Messiah  died ! 

A  howling  rises  through  the  air, 

A  trembling  fills  each  dark  vault  there, 

When  Christ  to  Hell  is  seen  to  come. 
She  snarls  with  rage,  but  needs  must  cower 
Before  our  mighty  hero's  power ; 

He  signs  —  and  Hell  is  straightway  dumb. 
Before  His  voice  the  thunders  break, 

On  high  His  victor-banner  blows ; 
E'en  angels  at  His  fury  quake. 

When  Christ  to  the  dread  judgment  goes. 

Now  speaks  He,  and  His  voice  is  thunder, 
He  speaks,  the  rocks  are  rent  in  sunder. 

His  breath  is  like  devouring  flames. 
Thus  speaks  He :  "  Tremble,  ye  accursed  ! 
He  who  from  Eden  hurled  you  erst, 

Your  kingdom's  overthrow  proclaims. 
Look  up !     My  children  once  were  ye, 

Your  arms  against  Me  then  ye  turned, 
Ye  fell,  that  ye  might  sinners  be, 

Ye've  now  the  wages  that  ye  earned. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  321 

"  My  greatest  foemen  from  that  day, 
Ye  led  my  dearest  friends  astray, — 

As  ye  had  fallen,  man  must  fall. 
To  kill  him  evermore  ye  sought, 
'  They  all  shall  die  the  death,'  ye  thought ; 

But  how !  for  Me  I've  won  them  all. 
For  them  alone  did  I  descend. 

For  them  prayed,  suffered,  perished  I. 
Ye  ne'er  shall  gain  your  wicked  end ; 

Who  trust  in  Me  shall  never  die. 

"  In  endless  chains  here  lie  ye  now, 
Nothing  can  save  you  from  the  slough. 

Not  boldness,  not  regret  for  crime. 
Lie,  then,  and  writhe  in  brimstone  fire  ! 
'Twas  ye  yourselves  drew  down  Mine  ire. 

Lie  and  lament  throughout  all  time ! 
And  also  ye,  whom  I  selected, 

E'en  ye  for  ever  I  disown. 
For  ye  My  saving  grace  rejected : 

Ye  murmur  ?  blame  yourselves  alone  ! 

"  Ye  might  have  hved  with  Me  in  bliss, 
For  I  of  yore  had  promised  this ; 

Ye  sinned,  and  all  my  prospects  slighted ; 
Wrapped  in  the  sleep  of  sin  ye  dwelt. 
Now  is  My  fearful  judgment  felt. 

By  a  just  doom  your  guilt  requited." — 
Thus  spake  He,  and  a  fearful  storm 

From  Him  proceeds,  the  lightnings  glow. 
The  thunders  seize  each  wicked  form. 

And  hurl  them  in  a  gulf  below. 


o* 


The  God-man  closeth  Hell's  sad  doors ; 
In  all  His  majesty  He  soars 

From  those  dark  regions  back  to  light. 
He  sitteth  at  the  Father's  side ; 


322  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Oh,  friends,  what  joy  doth  this  betide ! 

For  us,  for  us  He  still  will  fight ! 
The  angels'  sacred  choir  around 

Kejoice  before  the  mighty  Lord, 
So  that  all  creatures  hear  the  sound : 
"  Zebaoth's  God  be  aye  adored ! " 


PROVERBS. 

A  THOUSAND  flies  did  I  at  even  slay, 
Yet  did  one  wake  me  at  the  break  of  day. 

Who  serves  the  public  is  a  sorry  beast ; 

He  frets  himself ;  no  one  thanks  him  the  least. 

WouLDST  thou  nothing  useless  buy, 
Be  sure  the  fairs  you  go  not  nigh. 


I  COULD  no  greater  sorrow  own 
Than  live  in  Paradise  alone. 


TAME   XENIA. 

[The  Epigrams  bearing  the  title  of  "Xenia"  were  written  by 
Goethe  and  Schiller  together,  having  been  first  occasioned  by 
some  violent  attacks  made  on  them  by  some  insignificant  writers. 
They  are  extremely  numerous,  but  scarcely  any  of  them  could  be 
translated  into  English.  Those  here  given  are  merely  presented 
as  a  specimen.] 

God  gave  to  mortals  birth, 

In  his  own  image,  too ; 
Then  came  himself  to  earth, 

A  mortal  kind  and  true. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  323 

Barbarians  oft  endeavour 
Gods  for  themselves  to  make ; 

But  they're  more  hideous  ever 
Than  dragon  or  than  snake. 


"  What  is  science,  rightly  known  ? " 
'Tis  the  strength  of  life  alone. 
Life  canst  thou  engender  never, 
Life  must  be  life's  parent  ever 


It  matters  not,  I  ween. 

Where  worms  our  friends  consume, 
Beneath  the  turf  so  green, 

Or  'neath  a  marble  tomb. 
Remember,  ye  who  hve. 

Though  frowns  the  fleeting  day, 
That  to  your  friends  ye  give 

What  never  will  decay. 


What  shall  I  teach  thee,  the  very  first  thing  ? 
Fain  would  I  learn  o'er  my  shadow  to  spring ! 


EXCULPATION. 

Wilt  thou  dare  to  blame  the  woman  for  her  seeming 
sudden  changes, 
Swaying  east  and  swaying  westward,  as  the  breezes 
shake  the  tree  ? 
Fool !  thy  selfish  thought  misguides  thee  —  find  the 
man  that  never  ranges  ; 
Woman  wavers  but  to  seek  him  —  is  not  then  the 
fault  in  thee  ? 


324  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


PHOCEMION. 


In  His  blest  name,  who  was  His  own  creation, 

Who  from  all  time  makes  inaking  his  vocation ; 

The  name  of  Him  who  makes  our  faith  so  bright, 

Love,  confidence,  activity,  and  might ; 

In  that  One's  name,  who,  named  though  oft  He  be, 

Unknown  is  ever  in  Reahty  : 

As  far  as  ear  can  reach,  or  eyesight  dim, 

Thou  findest  but  the  known  resembling  Him ; 

How  high  soe'er  thy  fiery  spirit  hovers. 

Its  simile  and  type  it  straight  discovers ; 

Onward  thou'rt  drawn,  with  feelings  light  and  gay. 

Where  e'er  thou  goest,  smihng  is  the  way  ; 

No  more  thou  numberest,  reckonest  no  time, 

Each  step  is  infinite,  each  step  subhme. 


What  God  would  outwardly  alone  control, 
And  on  his  finger  whirl  the  mighty  Whole  ? 
He  loves  the  inner  world  to  move,  to  view 
Nature  in  Him,  Himself  in  Nature,  too. 
So  that  what  in  Him  works,  and  is,  and  hves, 
The  measure  of  His  strength.  His  spirit  gives. 


Within  us  all  a  universe  doth  dwell ; 
And  hence  each  people's  usage  laudable, 
That  every  one  the  Best  that  meets  his  eyes 
As  God,  yea,  e'en  Ms  God,  doth  recognise ; 
To  Him  both  earth  and  heaven  surrenders  he. 
Fears  Him,  and  loves  Him,  too,  if  that  may  be. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  325 


THE   PAKK. 

How  beautiful !     A  garden  fair  is  heaven, 
Flowers  of  all  hues,  and  smiling  in  the  sun, 
Where  all  was  waste  and  wilderness  before. 
Well  do  ye  imitate,  ye  gods  of  earth, 
The  great  Creator.     Rock,  and  lake,  and  glade. 
Birds,  fishes,  and  untamed  beasts  are  here. 
Your  work  were  all  an  Eden  but  for  this  — 
Here  is  no  man  unconscious  of  a  pang, 
No  perfect  Sabbath  of  unbroken  rest. 


ANTIQUES. 
LEOPOLD,   DUKE   OF   BRUNSWICK. 

[Written  on  the  occasion  of  the  death,  by  drowning,  of  that 
prince.] 

Thou  wert  forcibly  seized  by  the  hoary  lord  of  the 
river,  — 
Holding  thee,  ever  he  shares  with  thee  his  stream- 
ing domain. 
Calmly   sleepest    thou   near    his    urn    as    it    silently 
trickles, 
Till  thou  to  action  art  roused,  waked  by  the  swift- 
rolling  flood. 
Kindly  be  to  the  people,  as  when  thou  still  wert  a 
mortal. 
Perfecting  that  as  a  god,  which  thou  didst  fail  in, 
as  man. 


326  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


ANACEEON'S   GRAVE. 

Where  the  rose  is  fresh  and  blooming  —  where  the 
vine  and  myrtle  spring  — 

Where  the  turtle-dove  is  cooing  —  where  the  gay 
cicalas  sing  — 

Whose  may  be  the  grave  surrounded  with  such  store 
of  comely  grace, 

Like  a  God-created  garden  ?  'Tis  Anacreon's  resting- 
place. 

Spring  and  summer  and  the  autumn  poured  their  gifts 
around  the  bard, 

And,  ere  winter  came  to  chill  him,  sound  he  slept  be- 
neath the  sward. 

THE    HUSBANDMAN. 

Lightly  doth  the  furrow  fold  the  golden  grain  within 
its  breast, 

Deeper  shroud,  old  man,  shall  cover  in  thy  hmbs 
when  laid  at  rest. 

Blithely  plough,  and  sow  as  blithely !  Here  are 
springs  of  mortal  cheer, 

And  when  e'en  the  grave  is  closing,  Hope  is  ever  stand- 
ing near. 

THE    BROTHERS. 

Slumber,  Sleep  —  they  were  two  brothers,  servants  to 

the  Gods  above : 
Kind  Prometheus  lured  them  downwards,  ever  filled 

with  earthly  love ; 
But  what  Gods  could  bear  so  hghtly,  pressed  too  hard 

on  men  beneath. 
Slumber  did  his  brother's  duty  —  Sleep  was  deepened 

into  Death. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  327 


LOVE'S   HOUE- GLASS. 

Eeos  !    wherefore    do   I  see    thee,  with   the    glass  in 

either  hand  ? 
Fickle  god !  with  double  measure  wouldst  thou  count 

the  sliiftiQg  sand  ? 
"  TJiis  one  flows  for  parted  lovers  —  slowly  drops  each 

tiny  bead  — 
That  is  for  the  days  of  dalliance,  and  it  melts  with 

golden  speed." 


WAENING. 

Do  not  touch  him  —  do  not  wake  him  !     Fast  asleep 
is  Amor  lying ; 
Go  —  fulfil  thy  work  appointed  —  do  thy  labour  of 
the  day. 
Thus  the  wise  and  careful  mother  uses  every  moment 
flying, 
Whilst  her  child  is  in  the  cradle  —  Slumbers  pass 
too  soon  away. 


PHILOMELA. 

Surely,  surely.  Amor  nursed  thee,  songstress  of  the 
plaintive  note, 
And,  in  fond  and  childish  fancy,  fed  thee  from  his 
pointed  dart. 
So,  sweet  Philomel,  the  poison  sunk  into  thy  guileless 
throat, 
TUl,  with   all   love's  weight  of   passion,  strike  its 
notes  to  every  heart. 


328  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE   CHOSEN   KOCK. 

Here,  in  the  hush  and  stillness  of  mid-noon, 

The  lover  lay,  and  thought  upon  his  love ; 

With  blithesome  voice  he  spoke  to  me :  "  Be  thou 

My  witness,  stone !  —  Yet,  therefore,  vaunt  thee  not, 

For  thou  hast  many  partners  of  my  joy  — 

To  every  rock  that  crowns  this  grassy  dell, 

And  looks  on  me  and  my  felicity ; 

To  every  forest-stem  that  I  embrace 

In  my  entrancement  as  I  roam  along. 

Stand  thou  for  a  memorial  of  my  bliss  ! 

All  mingle  with  my  rapture,  and  to  all 

I  lift  a  consecrating  cry  of  joy. 

Yet  do  I  lend  a  voice  to  thee  alone. 

As  culls  the  Muse  some  favourite  from  the  crowd, 

And,  with  a  kiss,  inspires  for  evermore." 


SOLITUDE. 

Oh,  ye  kindly  nymphs,  who  dwell  'mongst  the  rocks 
and  the  thickets. 
Grant    unto    each    whatsoever   he    may   in   silence 
desire ! 
Comfort  impart  to  the  mourner,  and  give  to  the  doubter 
instruction, 
And  let  the  lover  rejoice,  finding  the  bliss  that  he 
craves. 
For  from  the  gods  ye  received  what  they  ever  denied 
unto  mortals, 
Power  to  comfort  and  aid  all  who  in  you  may  con- 
fide. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  329 


HOLY    FAMILY. 

0  CHILD  of  beauty  rare  — 

O  mother  chaste  and  fair  — 
How  happy  seemed  they  both,  so  far  beyond  compare ! 

She  in  her  infant  blest, 

And  he  in  conscious  rest, 
Nestling  within  the  soft  warm  cradle  of  her  breast ! 

What  joy  that  sight  might  bear 

To  him  who  sees  them  there, 
If,  with  a  pure  and  guilt-untroubled  eye. 
He  looked  upon  the  twain,  like  Joseph  standing  by. 

THE    MUSES'    MIEEOR 

Eakly  one  day,  the  Muse,  when  eagerly  bent  on  adorn- 
ment, 

Followed  a  swift-running  streamlet,  the  quietest  nook 
by  it  seeking. 

Quickly  and  noisily  flowing,  the  changeful  surface  dis- 
torted 

Ever  her  moving  form  ;  the  goddess  departed  in  anger. 

Yet  the  stream  called  mockingly  after  her,  saying: 
"  What,  truly ! 

Wilt  thou  not  view,  then,  the  truth,  in  my  mirror  so 
clearly  depicted  ? " 

But  she  already  was  far  away,  on  the  brink  of  the 
ocean. 

In  her  figure  rejoicing,  and  duly  arranging  her  garland. 

THE  TEACHEES. 

What  time  Diogenes,  unmoved  and  still, 
Lay  in  his  tub,  and  basked  him  in  the  sun  — 
What  time  Calanus  clomb,  with  lightsome  step 
And  smiling  cheek,  up  to  his  fiery  tomb  — 


330  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

What  rare  examples  there  for  Philip's  son 
To  curb  his  overmastering  lust  of  sway, 
But  that  the  Lord  of  the  majestic  world 
Was  all  too  great  for  lessous  even  like  these ! 

MAEEIAGE    UNEQUAL. 

Alas,  that  even  in  a  heavenly  marriage, 
The  fairest  lots  should  ne'er  be  reconciled  ! 

Psyche  waxed  old,  and  prudent  in  her  carriage, 
Whilst  Cupid  evermore  remains  the  child. 

PHGEBUS   AND    HERMES. 

The  deep-browed  lord  of  Delos  once,  and  Maia's  nim- 

ble-witted  son, 
Contended  eagerly  by  whom  the  prize  of  glory  should 

be  won  ; 
Hermes  longed  to  grasp  the  lyre,  —  the  lyre  Apollo 

hoped  to  gain, 
And  both  then*  hearts  were  full  of  hope,  and  yet  the 

hopes  of  both  were  vain. 
For  Ares,  to  decide  the  strife,  between  them  rudely 

dashed  in  ire. 
And  waving  high  his  falchion  keen,  he  cleft  in  twain 

the  golden  lyre. 
Loud  Hermes  laughed  maliciously,  but  at  the  direful 

deed  did  fall 
The  deepest  grief  upon  the  heart  of  Phoebus  and  the 

Muses  all. 

THE    WPtEATHS. 

Our  German  Klopstock,  if  he  had  his  will, 
Would  bar  us  from  the  skirts  of  Pindus  old  ; 
No  more  the  classic  laurel  should  be  prized. 
But  the  rough  leaflets  of  our  native  oak 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  331 

Alone  should  glisten  in  the  poet's  hair ; 

Yet  did  himself,  with  spirit  unreclaimed 

From  first  allegiance  to  those  early  gods, 

Lead  up  to  Golgotha's  most  awful  height 

With  more  than  epic  pomp  the  new  Crusade. 

But  let  him  range  the  bright  angelic  liost 

On  either  hill  —  no  matter.     By  his  grave 

All  gentle  hearts  should  bow  them  down  and  weep 

For  where  a  hero  and  a  saint  have  died. 

Or  where  a  poet  sung  prophetical, 

Dying  as  greatly  as  they  greatly  lived. 

To  give  memorial  to  all  after-times, 

Of  lofty  worth  and  courage  undismayed ; 

There,  in  mute  reverence,  all  devoutly  kneel, 

In  homage  of  the  thorn  and  laurel  wreath. 

That  were  at  once  their  glory  and  their  pang ! 

THE  NEW  LOVE. 

Love,  not  the  simple  youth  that  whilom  wound 

Himself  about  young  Psyche's  heart,  looked  round 

Olympus  with  a  cold  and  roving  eye. 

That  had  accustomed  been  to  victory. 

It  rested  on  a  Goddess,  noblest  far 

Of  all  that  noble  throng  —  glorious  star  — 

Venus  Urania.     And  from  that  hour 

He  loved  her.     Ah  !  to  his  resistless  power 

Even  she,  the  holy  one,  did  yield  at  last, 

And  in  his  daring  arms  he  held  her  fast. 

A  new  and  beauteous  Love  from  that  embrace 

Had  birth,  which  to  the  mother  owed  his  grace 

And  purity  of  soul,  whilst  from  his  sire 

He  borrowed  all  his  passion,  all  his  fire. 

Him  ever,  where  the  gracious  Muses  be, 

Thou'lt  surely  find.     Such  sweet  society 

Is  his  dehght,  and  his  sharp-pointed  dart 

Doth  rouse  within  men's  breasts  the  love  of  Art. 


332  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE    CONSECRATED    SPOT. 

When  in  the  dance  of  the  Nymphs,  in  the  moonhght 
so  holy  assembled, 

Mingle  the  Graces,  down  from  Olympus  in  secret  de- 
scending, 

Here  doth  the  minstrel  hide,  and  list  to  their  numbers 
enthralling, 

Here  doth  he  watch  their  silent  dances'  mysterious 
measure. 


SAKONTALA. 

WouLDST  thou  the  blossoms  of  spring,  as  well  as  the 
fruits  of  the  autumn, 
Wouldst  thou  what  charms  and  delights,  wouldst 
thou  what  pleuteously  feeds, 
Wouldst  thou  include  both  heaven  and  earth  in  one 
designation. 
All  that  is  needed  is  done,  when  I  Sakoutala  name. 


Yesterday  thy  head  was  brown,  as  are  the  flowing 
locks  of  love  ; 

In  the  bright  blue  sky  I  watched  thee  towering,  giant- 
like above. 

Now  thy  summit,  white  and  hoary,  ghtters  all  with 
silver  snow, 

Which  the  stormy  night  hath  shaken  from  its  robes 
upon  thy  brow ; 

And  I  know  that  youth  and  age  are  bound  with  such 
mysterious  meaning, 

As  the  days  are  Hnked  together,  one  short  dream  but 
intervening. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  335 


DISTICHS. 

Chords  are  touched  by  Apollo,  —  the  death-ladeu  bow, 
too,  he  bendeth ; 
While  he  the  shepherdess  charms.  Python  he  lays 
in  the  dust. 


What  is  merciful  censure  ?  to  make  thy  faults  appear 
smaller  ? 
May  be  to  veil  them  ?     No,  no !     O'er  them  to  raise 
thee  on  high  ! 


Democratic     food    soon    cloys    on    the    multitude's 
stomach ; 
But  I'll  wager,  ere  long,   other  thou'lt  give  them 
instead. 


What  in  France  has  passed  by,  the  Germans  continue 
to  practise, 
For   the   proudest  of  men  flatters  the  people  and 
fawns. 


Who  is  the  happiest  of   men  ?     He  who  values  the 
merits  of  others. 
And    in  their  pleasure  takes   joy,  even  as  though 
'twere  his  own. 


Not  in  the   morning  alone,  not  only  at   mid-day  he 
charmeth ; 
Even  at  setting,  the  sun  is  still  the  same  glorious 
planet. 


334  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


THE  CHINAMAN   IN  EOME. 

In  Rome  I  saw  a  stranger  from  Pekin : 
Uncouth  and  heavy  to  his  eye  appeared 
The  mingled  piles  of  old  and  modern  time. 

"  Alas  ! "  he  said,  what  wretched  taste  is  here  ! 
When  will  they  learn  to  stretch  the  airy  roof 
On  light  pilastered  shafts  of  varnished  wood  — 
Gain  the  tine  sense,  and  educated  eye, 
Which  only  finds  in  lacquer,  carvings  quaint, 
And  variegated  tintings,  pure  dehght  ? " 
Hearing  these  words,  unto  myself  I  said, 

"  Behold  the  type  of  many  a  moon-struck  bard, 
Who  vaunts  his  tissue,  woven  of  a  dream, 
'Gainst  nature's  tapestry,  that  lasts  for  aye. 
Proclaims  as  sick  the  truly  sound ;  and  this. 
That  he,  the  truly  sick,  may  pass  for  sound ! " 


PERFECT    BLISS. 

All  the  divine  perfections,  wliich  whilere 
Nature  in  thrift  doled  out  'mongst  many  a  fair, 

She  showered  with  open  hand,  thou  peerless  one,  on 
thee ! 
And  she  that  was  so  wondrously  endowed, 
To  whom  a  throng  of  noble  knees  were  bowed. 

Gave  all  —  Love's  perfect  gift  —  her  glorious  self, 
to  me! 

PROVERBS. 

A  BREACH  is  every  day, 

By  many  a  mortal  stormed ; 
Let  them  fall  in  the  gaps  as  they  may. 

Yet  a  heap  of  dead  is  ne'er  formed. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  335 

What  harm  has  thy  poor  mirror  done,  alas  ? 
Look  not  so  ugly,  prythee,  in  the  glass ! 


One  of  the  mightiest  actions  is  that 
When  one  fries  himself  in  his  own  fat. 


VENETIAN    EPIGEAMS. 

(Written  in  1790.) 

Urn  and  sarcophagus  erst  were  with  life  adorned  by 
the  heathen ; 
Fauns  are  dancing  around,  while  with  the  Bacchanal 
troop 
Checkered    circles   they   trace ;    and    the    goat-footed, 
puffy-cheeked  player 
Wildly  produceth  hoarse  tones  out  of  the  clamorous 
horn. 
Cymbals  and  drums  resound  ;  we  see  and  we  hear,  too, 
the  marble. 
Fluttering  bird  !  oh,  how  sweet  tastes  the  ripe  fruit 
to  thy  bill ! 
Noise  there  is  none  to  disturb  thee,  still  less  to  scare 
away  Amor, 
Who,  in  the  midst  of  the  throng,  learns  to  delight 
in  his  torch. 
Thus  doth   fulness   overcome    death ;    and    the    ashes 
there  covered 
Seem,  in  that  silent  domain,  still  to  be  gladdened 
with  life. 
Thus    may    the    minstrel's    sarcophagus    be    hereafter 
surrounded 
With  such  a  scroll,  which  himself  richly  with  life 
has  adorned. 


33^  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Clasped  in  my  arms  for  ever  eagerly  hold  I  my  mis- 
tress, 
Ever  my  panting  heart  throbs  wildly  against  her 
dear  breast, 
And  on  her  knees  for  ever  is  leaning  my  head,  while 
I'm  gazing 
Now  on  her  sweet  smiling  mouth,  now  on  her  bright 
sparkling  eyes. 
"Oh,  thou  effeminate!"  spake  one,  "and   thus,  then, 
thy  days  thou  art  spending  ?  " 
Ah,  they  in  sorrow  are  spent.     List  while  I  tell  thee 
my  tale : 
Yes!  I  have  left  my  only  joy  in  hfe  far  behind  me. 
Twenty  long  days  hath 'my  car  borne  me  away  from 
her  sight. 
Vetturini  defy  me,  while  crafty  chamberlains  flatter. 
And  the  sly  valet  de  place  thinks  but  of  lies  and 
deceit. 
If  I  attempt  to  escape,  the  postmaster  fastens  upon  me. 
Postboys  the  upper  hand  get,  custom-house  duties 
enrage. 
"  Truly,  I  can't  understand  thee  !  thou  talkest  enigmas  ! 
thou  seemest 
Wrapped  in  a  blissful  repose,  glad  as  Rinaldo  of 
yore : "  — 
Ah,  I  myself  understand  full  well ;  'tis  my  body  that 
travels. 
And  'tis  my  spirit  that  rests  still  in  my  mistress's 
arms. 


I    WOULD    liken    this    gondola    unto    the    soft-rocking 
cradle. 
And  the  chest  on  its  deck  seems  a  vast  coffin  to  be. 
Yes !  'tween  the  cradle  and  coffin,  we  totter  and  waver 
for  ever 
On  the  mighty  canal,  careless  our  lifetime  is  spent. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  337 

Why  are  the  people  thus  busily  moving  ?     For  food 
they  are  seeking, 
Children  they  fain  would  beget,  feeding  them  well 
as  they  can. 
Traveller,  mark  this  well,  and  when  thou  art  home,  do 
thou  likewise ! 
More  can  no  mortal  effect,  work  with  what  ardour 
he  will. 


I  WOULD  compare  to  the  land  this  anvil,  its  lord  to  the 
hammer, 
And  to  the  people  the  plate,  which  in  the  middle  is 
bent. 
Sad  is  the  poor  tin-plate's  lot,  when  the  blows  are  but 
given  at  random : 
Ne'er  will  the  kettle  be  made,  while  they  uncertainly 
fall. 


What  is  the  life  of  a  man  ?     Yet  thousands  are  ever 
accustomed 
Freely  to  talk  about  man,  —  what  he  has  done,  too, 
and  how. 
Even  less  is  a  poem ;  yet  thousands  read  and  enjoy  it. 
Thousands  abuse  it.  —  My  friend,  live  and  continue 
to  rhyme ! 

Merry's  the  trade  of  a  poet;   but  somewhat  a  dear 
one,  I  fear  me ; 
For,  as  my  book  grows  apace,  all  my  sequins  I  lose. 

If  thou'rt  in  earnest,  no  longer  delay,  but  render  me 
happy ; 
Art  thou   in   jest  ?     Ah,   sweet  love !  time  for  all 
jesting  is  past. 


33^  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Art  thou,  then,  vexed  at  my  silence  ?     What  shall  I 
speak  of  ?     Thou  markest 
Neither  my   sorrowful   sigh,  nor  my  soft  eloquent 
look. 
Only  one  goddess  is  able  the  seal  of  my  lips  to  un- 
loosen, — 
When  by  Aurora  I'm  found,  slumbering  calm  on  thy 
breast. 
Ah,  then  my  hymn  in  the  ears  of  the  earliest   gods 
shall  be  chanted. 
As  the  Memnonian  form  breathed  forth  sweet  secrets 
in  song. 

In  the  twilight  of  morning  to  chmb  to  the  top  of  the 
mountain,  — 
Thee  to  salute,  kindly  star,  earliest  herald  of  day,  — 
And  to  await,  with  impatience,  the  gaze  of  the  ruler 
of  heaven,  — 
Youthful  dehght,  oh,  how  oft  lurest  thou  me  out  in 
the  night ! 
Oh,  ye  heralds  of  day,  ye  heavenly  eyes  of  my  mistress. 
Now  ye  appear,  and   the   sun  evermore  riseth  too 
soon. 

Thou  art  amazed,  and   dost  point  to   the  ocean.     It 
seems  to  be  burning  ; 
Flame-crested  billows  in  play  dart  round  our  night- 
moving  bark. 
Me  it  astonisheth  not,  —  of  the  ocean  was  born  Aphro- 
dite, — 
Did  not  a  flame,  too,  proceed  from  her  for  us,  in  her 
son  ? 

Gleaming  the  ocean  appeared,  the  beauteous  billows 
were  smiling. 
While  a  fresh,  favouring  wind,  filling  the  sails,  drove 
us  on. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  339 

Free    was    my  bosom    from    yearning;   yet  soon   my 
languishing  glances 
Turned  themselves  backward  in  haste,  seeking  the 
snow-covered  hills. 
Treasures  unnumbered  are  southwards  lying.     Yet  one 
to  the  northwards 
Draws  me  resistlessly  back,  hke  the  strong  magnet 
in  force. 

Spacious  and  fair  is  the  world ;  yet  oh !  how  I  thank 
the  kind  heavens 
That  I  a  garden  possess,  small  though  it   be,  yet 
mine  own. 
One   which   enticeth   me  homewards ;   why   should  a 
gardener  wander  ? 
Honour  and  pleasure  he  finds,  when  to  his  garden  he 
looks. 

Ah,  my  maiden  is  going !  she  mounts  the  vessel !     My 
monarch, 
^olus !    potentate    dread !    keep    every    storm    far 
away ! 
"Oh,    thou    fool!"    cried    the    god:    "ne'er   fear    the 
blustering  tempest ; 
When  Love  flutters  his  wings,  then  mayest  thou 
dread  the  soft  breeze." 


34°  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


ELEGIES. 

PART    I. 

EOMAN   ELEGIES. 

[The  "Roman  Elegies"  were  written  in  tlie  same  year  as  the 
"Venetian  Epigrams"  — viz.,  1790.] 

Speak,  ye  stones,  I  entreat !     Oh,  speak,  ye  palaces 
lofty  ! 
Utter  a  word,  oh,  ye  streets !    Wilt  thou  not.  Genius, 
awake  ? 
All  that  thy  sacred  walls,  eternal   Eome,  hold  within 
them 
Teemeth  with  hfe;  but  to  me  all  is  still  silent  and 
dead. 
Oh,  who  will  whisper  unto  me,  —  when  shall  I  see  at 
the  casement 
That  one  beauteous  form,  which,  while  it  scorcheth, 
revives  ? 
Can  I  as  yet  not  discern  the  road,  on  which  I  for  ever 
To  her  and  from  her  shall  go,  heeding  not  time  as  it 
flies? 
Still  do  I  mark  the  churches,  palaces,  ruins,  and  col- 
umns. 
As  a   wise  traveller  should,  would  he  his  journey 
improve. 
Soon  all  this  will  be  past ;  and  then  will  there  be  but 
one  temple, 
Amor's  temple  alone,  where  the  Initiate  may  go. 
Thou  art  indeed  a  world,  O  Eome ;  and  yet  were  Love 
absent, 
Then  would  the  world  be  no  world,  then  would  e'en 
Eome  be  no  Eome. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  341 

Do  not  repent,  mine  own  love,  that  thou  so  soon  didst 
surrender ! 
Trust  me,  I  deem  thee  not  bold  !  reverence  only  I 
feel. 
Manifold  workings  the  darts  of  Amor  possess ;    some 
but  scratching, 
Yet,  with  insidious  effect,  poison  the  bosom  for  years. 
Others  mightily  feathered,  with  fresh  and  newly-born 
sharpness, 
Pierce  to  the  innermost  bone,  kindle  the  blood  into 
flame. 
In  the  heroical  times,  when  loved  each  god  and  each 
goddess. 
Longing  attended  on  sight;  then  with  fruition  was 
blessed. 
Thinkest  thou  the  goddess  had  long  been  thinking  of 
love  and  its  pleasures 
Wlien  she,  in  Ida's  retreats,  owned  to  Anchises  her 
flame  ? 
Had  but  Luna  delayed  to  kiss  the  beautiful  sleeper, 
Oh,   by    Aurora,  ere    long,  he   had   in    envy    been 
roused ! 
Hero  Leander  espied  at  the  noisy  feast,  and  the  lover 
Hotly  and  nimbly,  ere  long,  plunged  in  the  night- 
covered  flood. 
Ehea  Silvia,  virgin  princess,  roamed  near  the  Tiber, 
Seeking  there  water  to  draw,  when  by  the  god  she 
was  seized. 
Thus  were  the  sons  of  Mars  begotten !     The  twins  did 
a  she-wolf 
Suckle    and    nurture,  —  and    Eome    called    herself 
queen  of  the  world. 

Alexandek,  and  Caesar,  and  Henry,  and  Frederick,  the 
mighty, 
On  me  would  gladly  bestow  half  of  the  glory  they 
earned, 


342  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Could  I  but  grant  unto  each  one  night  on  the  couch 
where  I'm  lying ; 
But  they,  by  Orcus'  night,  sternly,  alas !    are  held 
down. 
Therefore  rejoice,  O  thou  living  one,  blest  in  thy  love- 
lighted  homestead, 
Ere  the  dark  Lethe's  sad  wave  wetteth  thy  fugitive 
foot. 

These  few  leaves,  O  ye  Graces,  a  bard  presents,  in 
your  honour, 
On  your  altar   so  pure,  adding   sweet  rosebuds  as 
well. 
And  he  does  it  with  hope.     The  artist  is  glad  in  his 
workshop. 
When  a  Pantheon  it  seems  round  him  for  ever  to 
bring. 
Jupiter  knits  his  godlike  brow,  —  hers,  Juno  uplifteth ; 
Phoebus  strides  on  before,  shaking  his  curly-locked 
head ; 
Calmly  and  dryly  Minerva  looks  down,  and  Hermes, 
the  light  one, 
Turneth  his  glances   aside,  roguish  and  tender  at 
once. 
But  toward  Bacchus,  the  yielding,  the  dreaming,  raiseth 
Cythere 
Looks  both  longing  and  sweet,  e'en  in  the  marble 
yet  moist. 
Of  his  embraces  she  thinks  with  delight,  and  seems  to 

be  asking :  — 
"  Should  not  our  glorious  son  take  up  his  place  by  our 
side?" 

Amor  is  ever  a  rogue,  and  all  who  believe  him  are 
cheated ! 
To  me  the  hypocrite  came  :  "  Trust  me,  I  pray  thee, 
this  once. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  343 

Honest  is  now  my  intent,  —  with  grateful   thanks   I 
acknowledge 
That  thou  thy  life  and  thy  works  hast  to  my  wor- 
ship ordained. 
See,  I  have  followed  thee  hither,  to  Kome,  with  kindly 
intention, 
Hoping  to  give  thee  mine  aid,  e'en  in  the  foreigner's 
land. 
Every  traveller  complains  that  the  quarters  he  meets 
with  are  wretched  ; 
Happily  lodged,  though,  is  he,  who  is  by  Amor  re- 
ceived. 
Thou  dost  observe  the  ruins  of  ancient  buildings  with 
wonder, 
Thoughtfully  wandering  on,  over  each  time-hallowed 
spot. 
Thou  dost  honour  still  more  the  worthy  relics  created 
By  the  few  artists  whom  /  loved  in  their  studios  to 
seek. 
/  'twas  fashioned  those  forms  !  thy  pardon,  —  I  boast 
not  at  present ; 
Presently  thou  shalt  confess,  that  what  I  tell  thee  is 
true. 
Now  that  thou  servest  me  more  idly,  where  are  the 
beauteous  figures, 
Where  are  the  colours,  the  light,  which  thy  creations 
once  filled  ? 
Hast  thou  a  mind  again  to  form  ?     The  school  of  the 
Grecians 
Still  remains  open,  my  friend ;  years  have  not  barred 
up  its  doors. 
I,  the  teacher,  am  ever  young,  and  love  all  the  youthful, 
Love  not  the  subtle  and  old  ;  Mother,  observe  what 
I  say ! 
Still  was   new  the  Antique,  when  yonder  blest  ones 
were  living ; 
Happily  live,  and  in  thee,  ages  long  vanished  will  live  ! 


344  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Food  for  song,  where  hopest  thou  to  find  it  ?     I  only 
can  give  it, 
And  a  more  excellent  style,  love,  and  love  only  can 
teach." 
Thus  did  the  Sophist  discourse.     What  mortal,  alas  ! 
could  resist  him  ? 
And  when  a  master  commands,  I  have  been  trained 
to  obey. 
Now  he  deceitfully  keeps  his  word,  gives  food  for  my 
numbers. 
But,    while   he    does    so,   alas !    robs    me    of   time, 
strength,  and  mind. 
Looks,  and  pressure  of  hands,  and  words  of  kindness, 
and  kisses. 
Syllables  teeming  with  thought,  by  a  fond  pair  are 
exchanged. 
Then   becomes  whispering  talk,  —  and  stammering,  a 
language  enchanting. 
Free  from  all  prosody's  rules,  dies  such  a  hymn  on 
the  ear. 
Thee,  Aurora,  I  used  to  own  as  the  friend  of  the  Muses  ; 
Hath,  then.  Amor  the  rogue  cheated,  Aurora,  e'en 
thee? 
Thou  dost  appear  to  me  now  as  his  friend,  and  again 
dost  awake  me 
Unto  a  day  of  delight,  while  at  his  altar  I  kneel. 
All  her  locks  I  find  on  my  bosom,  her  head  is  reposing, 
Pressing   with   softness  the  arm,  which  round  her 
neck  is  entwined ; 
Oh !  what  a  joyous  awakening,  ye  hours  so  peaceful, 
succeeded, 
Monument  sweet  of  the  bhss  which  had  first  rocked 
us  to  sleep ! 
In  her  slumber  she  moves,  and  sinks,  while  her  face  is 
averted. 
Far  on  the  breadth  of  the  couch,  leaving  her  hand 
still  in  mine. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  345 

Heartfelt  love  unites  us  for  ever,  and  yearnings  unsul- 
lied, 
And   our  cravings  alone  claim   for  themselves  the 
exchange. 
One  faint  touch  of  the  hand,  and  her  eyes  so  heavenly 
see  I 
Once  more  open.     Ah,  no !  let  me  still  look  on  that 
form  ! 
Closed    still    remain !       Ye    make    me    confused    and 
drunken,  ye  rob  me 
Far    too    soon    of    the    bhss    pure    contemplation 
affords. 
Mighty,  indeed,   are   these   figures !  these  limbs,  how 
gracefully  rounded  ! 
Theseus,  could'st  thou  e'er  fly,  whilst  Ariadne  thus 
slept  ? 
Only  one  single  kiss  on  these  lips !     0  Theseus,  now 
leave  us ! 
Gaze  on  her  eyes  !  she  awakes  !  —  Firmly  she  holds 
thee  embraced ! 


PAKT   II. 

ALEXIS   AND    DORA. 

[This  beautiful  poem  was  first  published  in  Schiller's  Horen.] 

Farthek  and  farther  away,  alas  !  at  each  moment  the 
vessel 
Hastens,  as  onward  it  glides,  cleaving  the  foam-cov- 
ered flood ! 
Long  is  the  track  ploughed  up  by  the  keel  where  dol- 
phins are  sporting. 
Following  fast  in  its  rear,  while  it  seems  flying  pur- 
suit. 


34^  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

All   forebodes   a  prosperous  voyage ;    the   sailor   with 
calmness 
Leans  'gainst  the  sail,  which  alone  all  that  is  needed 
performs. 
Forward  presses  the  heart  of  each  seaman,  like  colours 
and  streamers ; 
Backward  one  only  is  seen,  mournfully  fixed  near 
the  mast, 
While   on  the   blue-tinged   mountains,  which  fast  are 
receding,  he  gazeth. 
And  as  they  sink  in  the  sea,  joy  from  his  bosom 
departs. 
Vanished  from  thee,  too,  0  Dora,  is  now  the  vessel 
that  robs  thee 
Of  thine  Alexis,  thy  friend,  —  ah,  thy  betrothed  as 
well! 
Thou,  too,  art  after  me  gazing  in  vain.     Our  hearts  are 
still  throbbing. 
Though,  for  each  other,  yet,  ah  !  'gainst  one  another 
no  more. 
Oh,  thou  single  moment  wherein  I  found    life !  thou 
outweighest 
Every  day  which  had  else  coldly  from  memory  fled. 
'Twas  in  that  moment  alone,  the  last,  that  upon  me 
descended 
Life,  such  as  deities  grant,  though  thou  perceived'st 
it  not. 
Phoebus,  in  vain   with  thy  rays  dost  thou  clothe  the 
ether  in  glory : 
Thine  all-brightening  day  hateful  alone  is  to  me. 
Into   myself  I    retreat    for  shelter,  and  there,  in  the 
silence, 
Strive  to  recover  the  time  when  she  appeared  with 
each  day. 
Was  it  possible  beauty  like  this  to  see,  and  not  feel  it  ? 
Worked  not  those  heavenly  charms  e'en  on  a  mind 
dull  as  thine  ? 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  347 

Blame  not  thyself,  unhappy  one !     Oft  doth  the  bard 
an  enigma 
Thus  propose  to  the  throng,  skilfuUy  hidden  in  words. 
Each  one  enjoys  the  strange  commingling  of  images 
graceful, 
Yet  still  is  wanting  the  word  which  will  discover 
the  sense. 
When  at  length  it  is  found,  the  heart  of  each  hearer  is 
gladdened. 
And  in  the  poem  he  sees  meaning  of  twofold  delight. 
Wherefore  so  late  didst  thou  remove  the  bandage,  0 
Amor, 
Which  thou  hadst  placed  o'er  mine  eyes,  —  where- 
fore remove  it  so  late  ? 
Long  did  the  vessel,  when  laden,  lie  waiting   for  fa- 
vouring breezes. 
Till  in  kindness  the  wind  blew  from  the  land  o'er 
the  sea. 
Vacant  times   of  youth !   and  vacant  dreams   of    the 
future ! 
Ye  all  vanish,  and  nought,  saving  the  moment,  re- 
mains. 
Yes  1  it  remains,  —  my  joy  still  remains  !     I  hold  thee, 
my  Dora, 
And  thine  image  alone,  Dora,  by  hope  is  disclosed. 
Oft  have  I  seen  thee  go,  with  modesty  clad,  to  the 
temple. 
While  thy  mother  so  dear  solemnly  went  by  thy 
side. 
Eager  and  nimble  thou  wert,  in  bearing  thy  fruit  to 
the  market, 
Boldly  the  pail  from  the  well  didst  thou  sustain  on 
thy  head. 
Then  was  revealed  thy  neck,  then  seen  thy  shoulders 
so  beauteous, 
Then,  before  all  things,  the  grace  filling  thy  motions 
was  seen. 


348  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Oft  have  I  feared  that  the  pitcher  perchance  was  in 
danger  of  falling, 
Yet  it  ever  remained  firm  on  the  circular  cloth. 
Thus,    fair    neighbour,    yes,   thus   I   oft   was    wont  to 
observe  thee. 
As  on  the  stars  I  might  gaze,  as  I  might  gaze  on 
the  moon, 
Glad  indeed  at  the  sight,  yet  feeling  within  my  calm 
I    bosom 

Not  the  remotest  desire  ever  to  call  them  mine  own. 
Years  thus  fleeted  away !     Although  our  houses  were 
only 
Twenty    paces    apart,    yet    I    thy    threshold    ne'er 
crossed. 
Now  by  the  fearful  flood  are  we  parted !     Thou  liest 
to  Heaven, 
Billow !  thy  beautiful  blue  seems  to  me  dark  as  the 
night. 
All  were  now  in  movement :  a  boy  to  the  house  of  my 
father 
Ran  at   full   speed   and   exclaimed :   "  Hasten    thee 
quick  to  the  strand  ! 
Hoisted  the  sail  is  already,  e'en  now  in  the  wind  it  is 
fluttering. 
While  the  anchor  they  weigh,  heaving  it  up  from 
the  sand ; 
Come,  Alexis,  oh,  come  ! "  —  My  worthy  stout-hearted 
father 
Pressed,   with   a  blessing,  his    hand    down   on   my 
curly-locked  head. 
While  my  mother  carefully  reached  me  a  newly-made 
bundle ; 
"  Happy  may'st   thou   return  !  "    cried    they  —  "  both 
happy  and  rich  ! " 
Then  I  sprang  away,  and  under  my  arm  held  the  bundle, 
Eunning  along  by  the  wall.     Standing  I  found  thee 
hard  by, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  349 

At  the  door    of  thy    garden.     Thou   smilingly    saidst 
then  :  "  Alexis  ! 
Say,  are  yon  boisterous  crew  going  thy   comrades 
to  be? 
Foreign  coasts  wilt  thou  visit,  and  precious  merchan- 
dise purchase, 
Ornaments  meet  for  the  rich  matrons  who  dwell  in 
the  town ; 
Bring  me,  also,  I  pray  thee,  a  light  chain  ;  gladly  I'll 
pay  thee. 
Oft  have  I  wished  to  possess  some  such  trinket  as 
that." 
There  I  remained,  and  asked,  as  merchants  are  wont, 
with  precision 
After  the  form  and  the  weight  which  thy  commission 
should  have. 
Modest,  indeed,  was  the  price   thou  didst  name !     I 
meanwhile  was  gazing 
On  thy  neck,  which  deserved  ornaments  worn  but  by 
queens. 
Loudly  now  rose  the  cry  from  the  ship ;  then  kindly 
thou  spakest :  — 
"  Take,  I  entreat  thee,  some  fruit  out  of  the  garden, 
my  friend  ! 
Take  the  ripest  oranges,  figs  of  the  whitest ;  the  ocean 
Beareth  no  fruit,  and,  in  truth,  'tis  not  produced  by 
each  land." 
So  I  entered  in.     Thou  pluckedst  the  fruit  from  the 
branches, 
And  the  burden  of  gold  was  in  thine  apron  upheld. 
Oft  did  I  cry,  enough !     But  fairer  fruits  were  still 
falling 
Into  thy  hand  as  I  spake,  ever  obeying  thy  touch. 
Presently  didst  thou  reach  the  arbour  ;  there  lay  there 
a  basket, 
Sweet    blooming    myrtle-trees   waved,  as   we    drew 
nigh,  o'er  our  heads. 


35°  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Then  thou  began'st  to  arrange  the  fruit  with  skill  and 
in  silence  : 
First  the  orange,  which  lay  heavy  as  though  'twere 
of  gold, 
Then   the  yielding  fig,  by  the  shghtest  pressure  dis- 
figured, 
And  with  myrtle  the  gift  soon  was  both  covered  and 
graced. 
But  I  raised  it  not  up.     I  stood.     Our  eyes  met  to- 
gether. 
And  my  eyesight  grew  dim,  seeming  obscured  by  a 
film. 
Soon  I  felt  thy  bosom  on  mine  !     Mine  arm  was  soon 
twining 
Bound  thy  beautiful  form  ;  thousand  times  kissed  I 
thy  neck. 
On  my  shoulder  sank  thy  head  ;  thy  fair  arms,  encir- 
chng. 
Soon  rendered  perfect  the  ring  knitting  the  raptur- 
ous pair. 
Amor's   hands  I    felt :    he   pressed    us   together  with 
ardour. 
And,  from  the  firmament  clear,  thrice  did  it  thun- 
der ;  then  tears 
Streamed  from  mine  eyes  in  torrents,  thou  weptest,  I 
wept,  both  were  weeping, 
And,  'mid  our  sorrow  and    bliss,  even    the   world 
seemed  to  die. 
Louder  and  louder  they  called  from  the  strand  ;  my 
feet  would  no  longer 
Bear    my  weight,   and    I    cried :     "  Dora !    and    art 
thou  not  mine  ? " 
"  Thine  for  ever ! "  thou  gently  didst  say.     Then  the 
tears  we  were  shedding 
Seemed  to  be  wiped  from  our  eyes,  as  by  the  breath 
of  a  god. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  351 

Nearer  was  heard  the   cry  "  Alexis  ! "     The   stripling 
who  sought  me 
Suddenly  peeped  through  the  door.      How  he  the 
basket  snatched  up ! 
How  he  urged  me  away  !   how  pressed  I  thy  hand ! 
Dost  thou  ask  me 
How  the  vessel  I  reached  ?     Drunken  I  seemed,  well 
I  know. 
Drunken  my  shipmates  beheved  me,  and  so  had  pity 
upon  me ; 
And  as  the  breeze  drove  us  on,  distance  the  town 
soon  obscured. 
"  Thine  for  ever ! "  thou,  Dora,  didst  murmur ;  it  fell 
on  my  senses 
With  the  thunder  of  Zeus !  while  by  the  thunderer's 
throne 
Stood  his  daughter,  the  Goddess  of  Love ;  the  Graces 
were  standing 
Close  by  her  side !  so  the  bond  beareth  an  impress 
divine ! 
Oh,   then    hasten,    thou    ship,    with    every    favouring 
zephyr ! 
Onward,  thou  powerful  keel,  cleaving  the  waves  as 
they  foam ! 
Bring  me  unto  the  foreign  harbour,  so  that  the  gold- 
smith 
May    in    his    workshop    prepare    straightway    the 
heavenly  pledge ! 
Ay,  of  a  truth,  the  chain  shall  indeed  be  a  chain,  O 
my  Dora ! 
Nine  times  encirchng  thy  neck,  loosely  around  it 
entwined. 
Other    and    manifold    trinkets    I'll    buy    thee ;    gold- 
mounted  bracelets, 
Eichly  and  skilfully  wrought,  also  shall  grace  thy 
fair  hand. 


352  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

There  shall  the  ruby  and  emerald  vie,  the  sapphire  so 
lovely 
Be  to  the  jacinth  opposed,  seeming  its  foil ;  vsrhile 
the  gold 
Holds  all  the  jewels  together,  in  beauteous  union  com- 
mingled. 
Oh,  how  the  bridegroom  exults,  when  he  adorns  his 
betrothed  ! 
Pearls  if  I  see,  of  thee  they  remind  me  ;  each  ring  that 
is  shown  me 
Brings  to   my  mind   thy   fair  hand's   graceful  and 
tapering  form. 
I  will  barter  and  buy  ;  the   fairest  of  all  shalt  thou 
choose  thee. 
Joyously  would  I  devote  all  of  the  cargo  to  thee. 
Yet  not  trinkets  and  jewels  alone   is  thy   loved  one 
procuring  ; 
With  them  he  brings  thee  whate'er  gives  to  a  house- 
wife dehght. 
Fine  and  woollen  coverlets,  wrought  with  an  edging 
of  purple, 
Fit  for  a  couch  where  we  both,  lovingly,  gently  may 
rest ; 
Costly  pieces  of  hnen.     Thou  sittest  and  sewest,  and 
clothest 
Me,  and  thyself,  and,  perchance,  even  a  third  with 
it  too. 
Visions  of   hope,  deceive  ye   my  heart !     Ye  kindly 
Immortals, 
Soften  this  fierce-raging  flame,  wildly  pervading  my 
breast ! 
Yet  how  I  long  to  feel  them  again,  those  rapturous 
torments. 
When,  in  their  stead,   care  draws  nigh,  coldly  and 
fearfully  calm. 
Neither  the  Furies'  torch,  nor  the  hounds  of  hell  with 
their  barking 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  353 

Awe  the  delinquent  so  much,  down  in  the  plains  of 
despair, 
As   by  the  motionless  spectre  I'm  awed,  that   shows 
me  the  fair  one 
Far  away  ;  of  a  truth,  open  the  garden-door  stands ! 
And  another  one  cometh !     For  him  the  fruit,  too,  is 
falling, 
And  for  him,  also,  the  fig  strengthening  honey  doth 
yield ! 
Doth  she  entice  him  as  well  to  the  arbour  ?     He  fol- 
lows ?     Oh,  make  me 
Blind,  ye  Immortals !  efface  visions  hke  this  from 
my  mind ! 
Yes,  she  is  but  a  maiden  !     And  she  who  to  one  doth 
so  quickly 
Yield,  to  another  ere  long,  doubtless,  will  turn  her- 
self round. 
Smile  not,  Zeus,  for  this  once,  at  an  oath  so  cruelly 
broken ! 
Thunder    more    fearfully  !       Strike  !  —  Stay  —  thy 
fierce  lightnings  withhold ! 
Hurl  at  me  thy  quivering  bolt !     In  the  darkness  of 
midnight 
Strike  with  thy  Hghtuing  this  mast,  make  it  a  pitiful 
wreck ! 
Scatter  the  planks  all  around,  and  give  to  the  boister- 
ous billows 
All  these  wares,  and  let  me  be  to  the  dolphins  a 
prey !  — 
Now,  ye  Muses,  enough !  In  vain  would  ye  strive  to 
depicture 
How,  in  a  love-laden  breast,  anguish  alternates  with 
bUss. 
Ye  cannot  heal  the  wounds,  it  is  true,  that  love  hath 
inflicted ; 
Yet  from  you  only  proceeds,  kindly  ones,  comfort 
and  balm. 


354  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

SONG   OF   THE   FATES. 

FROM    IPHIGENIA    IN    TAURIS. 
ACT    IV.   SCENE    5. 

Ye  childreii  of  mortals 
The  deities  dread ! 
The  mastery  liold  they 
In  hands  all  eternal, 
And  use  them,  unquestioned, 
What  manner  they  like. 

Let  him  fear  them  doubly, 
Whom  they  have  uplifted  ! 
On  clifi's  and  on  clouds,  lo, 
Eound  tables  all-golden, 
The  seats  are  made  ready. 
When  rises  contention, 
The  guests  are  hurled  downward 
With  shame  and  dishonour 
To  deep  depths  of  midnight, 
And  vainly  await  they, 
Bound  fast  in  the  darkness, 
A  just  condemnation. 

But  they  remain  ever 
In  firmness  unshaken 
Round  tables  all-golden. 
On  stride  they  from  mountain 
To  mountain  far  distant : 
From  out  the  abysses' 
Dark  jaws,  the  breath  rises 
Of  torment-choked  Titans 
Up  tow'rd  them,  like  incense 
In  light  clouds  ascending. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  355 

The  rulers  immortal 
Avert  from  whole  peoples 
Their  blessing-fraught  glances, 
And  shun,  in  the  children, 
To  trace  the  once  cherished, 
StiU  eloquent  features 
Their  ancestors  wore. 

Thus  chanted  the  Parcse ; 
The  old  man,  the  banished. 
In  gloomy  vault  lying. 
Their  song  overheareth, 
Sons,  grandsons  rememb'reth, 
And  shaketh  his  head. 


Songs   from    Various    Plays,    Etc. 
FROM   FAUST. 


DEDICATION. 

Ye  shadowy  forms,  again  ye're  drawing  near, 
So  wont  of  yore  to  meet  my  troubled  gaze  ! 

Were  it  in  vain  to  seek  to  keep  you  here  ? 

Loves  still  my  heart  that  dream  of  olden  days  ? 

Oh,  come,  then  !  and  in  pristine  force  appear, 
Parting  the  vapoury  mist  that  round  me  plays ! 

My  bosom  finds  its  youthful  strength  again, 

Feeling  the  magic  breeze  that  marks  your  train. 

Ye  bring  the  forms  of  happy  days  of  yore. 
And  many  a  shadow  loved  attends  you,  too  ; 

Like  some  old  lay,  whose  dream  was  well-nigh  o'er, 
First  love  appears  again,  and  friendship  true ; 

Upon  life's  labyrinthine  path  once  more 
Is  heard  the  sigh,  and  grief  revives  anew ; 

The  friends  are  told,  who,  in  their  hour  of  pride, 

Deceived  by  fortune,  vanished  from  my  side. 

No  longer  do  they  hear  my  plaintive  song, 

The  souls  to  whom  I  sang  in  life's  young  day ; 

Scattered  for  ever  now  thy  friendly  throng, 
And  mute,  alas  !  each  sweet  responsive  lay. 

356 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  357 

My  strains  but  to  the  careless  crowd  belong, 

Their  smiles  but  sorrow  to  my  heart  convey  ; 
And  all  who  heard  my  numbers  erst  with  gladness, 
If  living  yet,  roam  o'er  the  earth  in  sadness. 

Long  buried  yearnings  in  my  breast  arise, 
Yon  calm  and  solemn  spirit-realm  to  gain ; 

Like  the  ^olian  harp's  sweet  melodies, 

My   murmuring  song  breathes  forth  its  changeful 
strain, 

A  trembling  seizes  me,  tears  fill  mine  eyes, 
And  softer  grows  my  rugged  heart  amain. 

All  I  possess  far  distant  seems  to  be. 

The  vanished  only  seems  reality. 


IL 

PEOLOGUE  IN  HEAVEN. 

THE  AECHANGELS'  SONG. 
RAPHAEL. 

The  sun  still  chants,  as  in  old  time. 

With  brother-shepherds  in  choral  song. 
And  with  his  thunder-march  sublime 

Moves  his  predestined  course  along. 
Strength  find  the  angels  in  his  sight, 

Though  he  by  none  may  fathomed  be ; 
Still  glorious  is  each  work  of  might 

As  when  first  formed  in  majesty. 

GABRIEL. 

And  swift  and  swift,  in  wondrous  guise, 
Eevolves  the  earth  in  splendour  bright, 


358  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

The  radiant  hues  of  Paradise 
Alternating  with  deepest  night. 

From  out  the  gulf  against  the  rock, 

In  spreading  billows  foams  the  ocean,  — 

And  cliff  and  sea  with  mighty  shock. 

The  spheres  whirl  round  in  endless  motion. 


MICHAEL. 

And  storms  in  emulation  growl 

From  land  to  sea,  from  sea  to  land, 
And  fashion,  as  they  wildly  howl, 

A  circling,  wonder-working  band. 
Destructive  flames  in  mad  career 

Precede  thy  thunders  on  their  way; 
Yet,  Lord,  Thy  messengers  revere 

The  soft  mutations  of  Thy  day. 

THE     THREE. 

strength  find  the  angels  in  Thy  sight 
Though  none  may  hope  to  fathom  Thee ; 

Still  glorious  are  Thy  works  of  might, 
As  when  first  formed  in  majesty. 


III. 
CHORUS  OF  ANGELS. 

Christ  is  arisen ! 
Mortal,  all  hail ! 

Thou,  of  earth's  prison 
Dreary  and  frail. 
Bursting  the  veil, 

Proudly  hast  arisen  ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  359 


CHOKUS    OF    WOMEN. 


Eich  spices  and  myrrh, 

To  embalm  Him  we  brought ; 
His  corpse  to  inter 

His  true  followers  sought. 
In  pure  cerements  shrined, 

'Twas  placed  in  the  bier ; 
But,  alas !  we  now  find 

That  Christ  is  not  here. 

CHORUS    OF    ANGELS. 

Christ  is  arisen ! 

Speechless  His  love, 
Who  to  earth's  prison 

Came  from  above, 

Trials  to  prove. 
Now  is  He  risen  ! 

CHORUS   OF   YOUTHS. 

Death's  gloomy  portal 

Now  hath  He  rended, — 
Living,  immortal. 

Heavenward  ascended  ; 
Freed  from  His  anguish, 

Sees  He  God's  throne ; 
We  still  must  languish, 

Earthbound,  alone. 
Now  that  He's  left  us, 

Heart-sad  we  pine ; 
Why  hast  Thou  left  us. 

Master  divine  ? 

CHORUS   OF   ANGELS. 

Christ  is  arisen, 

Death  hath  He  slain  ; 


o 


60  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Burst  ye  your  prison, 

Rend  ye  each  chain  ! 
Songs  of  praise  lead  ye, — 
Love  to  show,  heed  ye,  — 
Hungry  ones  feed  ye,  — 
Preaching,  on  speed  ye,  — 
Coming  joys  plead  ye,  — 
Then  is  the  Master  near, 
Then  is  He  here  ! 


IV. 
CHORUS    OF    SPIRITS. 

Vanish,  dark  clouds  on  high, 

Offspring  of  night ! 
Let  a  more  radiant  beam 
Through  the  blue  ether  gleam. 

Charming  the  sight ! 
Would  the  dark  clouds  on  high 

Melt  into  air ! 
Stars  ghmmer  tenderly, 

Planets  more  fair 

Shed  their  soft  light. 
Spirits  of  heavenly  birth. 
Fairer  than  sons  of  earth, 
Quiv'ring  emotions  true 

Hover  above ; 
Yearning  affections,  too, 

In  their  train  move. 
See  how  the  spirit  band. 
By  the  soft  breezes  fanned, 
Covers  the  smiling  land,  — 
Covers  the  leafy  grove. 
Where  happy  lovers  rove. 
Deep  in  a  dream  of  love, 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  3^1 

True  love  that  never  dies  ! 
Bowers  on  bowers  rise, 
Soft  tendrils  twine ; 
While  from  the  press  escapes, 
Born  of  the  juicy  grapes, 

Foaming,  the  wine ; 
And  as  the  current  flows 
O'er  the  bright  stones  it  goes,  — 
Leaving  the  hilly  lands 

Far,  far  behind,  — 
Into  a  sea  expands, 

Loving  to  wind 
Eound  the  green  mountain's  base  ; 
And  the  glad-winged  race, 

Kapture  sip  in, 
As  they  the  sunny  light 
And  the  fair  islands  bright. 

Hasten  to  win, 
That  on  the  billows  play 
With  sweet  deceptive  ray, 
Where  in  glad  choral  song 
Shout  the  exulting  throng  ; 
Where  on  the  verdant  plain 

Dancers  we  see, 
Spreading  themselves  amain 

Over  the  lea. 
Some  boldly  climbing  are 

O'er  the  steep  brake, 
Others  are  floating  far 

O'er  the  smooth  lake. 
All  for  a  purpose  move. 

All  with  life  teem. 
While  the  sweet  stars  above 
BhssfuUy  gleam. 


362  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


MAKGARET   AT    HER   SPINNING-WHEEL. 

My  heart  is  sad, 

My  peace  is  o'er; 
I  find  it  never 

And  nevermore. 


When  gone  is  he. 
The  grave  I  see  ; 

The  world's  wide  all 
Is  turned  to  gall. 


Alas,  my  head 

Is  well-uigh  crazed ; 
My  feeble  mind 

Is  sore  amazed. 


My  heart  is  sad, 
My  peace  is  o'er; 

I  find  it  never 
And  nevermore. 

For  him  from  the  window 

Alone  I  spy ; 
For  him  alone 

From  home  go  I. 

His  lofty  step, 

His  noble  form, 
His  mouth's  sweet  smile, 

His  glances  warm. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  363 

His  voice  so  fraught 

With  magic  bliss, 
His  hand's  soft  pressure, 

And,  ah,  his  kiss  ! 

My  heart  is  sad. 

My  peace  is  o'er ; 
I  find  it  never 

And  nevermore. 

My  bosom  yearns 

For  his  form  so  fair ; 
Ah,  could  I  clasp  him 

And  hold  him  there  I 

My  kisses  sweet 

Should  stop  his  breath, 
And  'neath  his  kisses 

I'd  sink  in  death ! 


VI. 

SCENE.  — A   GAEDEN. 

Margaret.     Faust. 

MAKGARET. 

Dost  thou  beheve  in  God  ? 

FAUST. 

Doth  mortal  live 
Who  dares  to  say  that  he  believes  in  God  ? 

Go,  bid  the  priest  a  truthful  answer  give, 

Go,  ask  the  wisest  who  on  earth  e'er  trod, — 

Their  answer  will  appear  to  be 

Given  alone  in  mockery. 


364  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

MARGAEET. 

Then  thou  dost  not  beheve  ?     This  sayest  thou  ? 

FAUST. 

Sweet  love,  mistake  not  what  I  utter  now  I 

Who  knows  his  name  ? 

Who  dares  proclaim : 

Him  I  believe  ? 

Who  so  can  feel 

His  heart  to  steel 

To  say  :  I  believe  Him  not  ? 

The  All-Embracer, 

The  All-Sustainer, 

Holds  and  sustains  He  not 

Thee,  me,  Himself  ? 

Hang  not  the  heavens  their  arch  o'erhead  ? 

Lies  not  the  earth  beneath  us,  firm  ? 

Gleam  not  with  kindly  glances 

Eternal  stars  on  high  ? 

Looks  not  mine  eye  deep  into  thine  ? 

And  do  not  all  things 

Crowd  on  thy  head  and  heart, 

And  around  thee  twine,  in  mystery  eterne, 

Invisible,  yet  visible  ? 

Fill,  then,  thy  heart,  however  vast,  with  this. 

And  when  the  feeling  perfecteth  thy  bhss, 

Oh,  call  it  what  thou  wilt. 

Call  it  joy  !  heart !  love  !  God  ! 

No  name  for  it  I  know  ! 

'Tis  feeling  all  —  nought  else ; 

Name  is  but  sound  and  smoke, 

Obscuring  heaven's  bright  glow. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  365 

VIL 
MARGAKET'S   PEAYER. 

0  THOU  well-tried  in  grief, 
Grant  to  thy  child  relief, 

And  view  with  mercy  this  unhappy  one  ! 

The  sword  within  thy  heart, 
Speechless  with  bitter  smart, 
Thou  lookest  up  toward  thy  dying  Son. 

Thou  lookest  to  God  on  high, 
And  breathest  many  a  sigh 
O'er  His  and  thy  distress,  thou  holy  One  ! 

Who  e'er  can  know 
The  depth  of  woe 
Piercing  my  very  bone  ? 
The  sorrows  that  my  bosom  fill, 
Its  tremblings,  its  aye-yearning  will 
Are  known  to  thee,  to  thee  alone. 

Wherever  T  may  go, 
With  woe,  with  woe,  with  woe. 
My  bosom  sad  is  aching ! 

1  scarce  alone  can  creep, 
I  weep,  I  weep,  I  weep, 

My  very  heart  is  breaking. 

The  flowers  at  my  window 

My  falling  tears  bedewed, 
When  I,  at  dawn  of  morning. 

For  thee  these  flow'rets  strewed. 


366  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

When  early  to  my  chamber 
The  cheerful  sunbeams  stole, 

I  sat  upon  my  pallet, 
In  agony  of  soul. 

Help !  rescue  me  from  death  and  misery  ! 

Oh,  thou  well-tried  in  grief, 

Grant  to  thy  child  relief. 
And  view  with  mercy  my  deep  agony ! 


FROM  FAUST  — SECOND   PART. 


AKIEL. 

When  in  spring  the  gentle  rain 

Breathes  into  the  flower  new  birth. 
When  the  green  and  happy  plain 

Smiles  upon  the  sons  of  earth, 
Haste  to  give  what  help  we  may, 

Little  elves  of  wondrous  might ! 
Whether  good  or  evil  they. 

Pity  for  them  feels  the  sprite. 


11. 

CHORUS    OF   SPIRITS. 

When  the  moist  and  balmly  gale 

Eound  the  verdant  meadow  sighs. 
Odours  sweet  in  misty  veil 

At  the  twihght-hour  arise. 
Murmurings  soft  of  calm  repose 

Eock  the  heart  to  childhke  rest, 
And  the  day's  bright  portals  close 

On  the  eyes  with  toil  oppressed. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  367 

Night  already  reigns  o'er  all, 

Strangely  star  is  linked  to  star ; 
Planets  mighty,  sparklings  small, 

Glitter  near  and  gleam  afar. 
Gleam  above  in  clearer  night, 

Ghtter  in  the  glassy  sea  ; 
Pledging  pure  and  calm  delight. 

Rules  the  moon  in  majesty. 

Now  each  well-known  hour  is  over, 

Joy  and  grief  have  passed  away  ; 
Feel  betimes  !  thou'lt  then  recover : 

Trust  the  new-born  eye  of  day. 
Vales  grow  verdant,  hillocks  teem, 

Shady  nooks  the  bushes  yield, 
And  with  waving,  silvery  gleam, 

Rocks  the  harvest  in  the  field. 

Wouldst  thou  wish  for  wish  obtain, 

Look  upon  yon  glittering  ray  ! 
Lightly  on  thee  lies  the  chain, 

Cast  the  shell  of  sleep  away  ! 
Tarry  not,  but  be  thou  bold. 

When  the  many  loiter  still ; 
All  with  ease  may  be  controlled 

By  the  man  of  daring  will. 


m. 

AKIEL. 

Hark  !  the  storm  of  hours  draws  near, 
Loudly  to  the  spirit-ear 
Signs  of  coming  day  appear. 
Rocky  gates  are  wildly  crashing, 
Phcebus'  wheels  are  onward  dashing ; 

(A  wonderful  noise  proclaims  the  approach  of  the  sun.) 


/,. 


368  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Light  doth  mighty  sounds  beget ! 
Pealing  loud  as  rolling  thunder, 
Eye  and  ear  it  fills  with  wonder, 

Though  itself  unconscious  yet 
Downward  steals  it,  'mongst  the  flowers 
Seeking  deeper,  stiller  bowers, 
'Mongst  the  fohage,  neath  the  rock ; 
Thou'lt  be  deafened  by  the  shock ! 


FROM  FAUST  — SECOND   PART. 

SCENE   THE   LAST. 

ANGELS. 

[Hovering  in  the  higher  regions  of  air,  and  bearing  the  immortal 

part  of  Faust.] 

The  spirit-region's  noble  limb 

Hath  'scaped  the  Archfiend's  power ; 
For  we  have  strength  to  rescue  him 

Who  labours  every  hour. 
And  if  he  feels  within  his  breast 

A  ray  of  love  from  heaven. 
He's  met  by  all  the  squadron  blest 

With  welcome  gladly  given. 

THE   YOUNGER   ANGELS, 

Yonder  roses,  from  the  holy 

Hands  of  penitents  so  lowly, 

Helped  to  render  us  victorious. 

And  to  do  the  deed  all-glorious  ; 

For  they  gained  us  this  soul-treasure. 
Evil  ones  those  roses  banished. 
Devils,  when  we  met  them,  vanished. 

Spirits  felt  love's  pangs  with  pleasure. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  3^9 

Where  hell's  torments  used  to  dwell ; 
E'en  the  hoary  king  of  hell 
Felt  sharp  torments  through  him  run. 
Shout  for  joy  !  the  prize  is  won. 


THE    MORE    PERFECT   ANGELS. 

Strains  of  mortality 

Long  have  oppressed  us ; 
Pure  could  they  ever  be, 

If  of  asbestos. 
If  mighty  spirit  strength 

Elements  ever 
Knew  how  to  seize  at  length, 

Angels  could  never 
Linked  twofold  natures  move, 
'.  Where  single-hearted ; 
By  nought  but  deathless  love 

Can  they  be  parted. 


THE  YOUNGER    ANGELS. 

See  where  a  spirit-race 

Bursts  on  the  sight ! 
Dimly  their  forms  I  trace 

Eound  the  far  height. 
Each  cloud  becometh  clear, 
While  the  bright  troops  appear 

Of  the  blest  boys, 
From  the  Earth's  burden  free. 
In  a  glad  company 

Drinking  in  joys, 
Born  of  the  world  above, 

Spring-time  and  bliss. 
May  they  forerunners  prove 
Of  a  more  perfect  love, 

Linked  on  to  this ! 


37 o  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

THE    BEATIFIED    CHILDKEN, 

Thus  as  a  chrysalis 

Gladly  we  gaiu  him, 
And  as  a  pledge  of  bhss 

Safely  retain  him ; 
When  from  the  shell  he's  free 

Whereby  he's  tainted, 
Perfect  and  fair  he'll  be, 

Holy  and  sainted. 

DOCTOR   MARIANUS. 
(In  the  highest,  purest  cell.) 

Wide  is  the  prospect  here, 

Eaised  is  the  soul ; 
Women  on  high  appear. 

Seeking  their  goal. 
'Mongst  them  the  radiant  one, 

Queen  of  the  skies, 
In  her  bright  starry  crown 

Greets  my  glad  eyes. 

{With  ecstasy.) 
Thou  who  art  of  earth  the  queen. 

Let  me,  'neath  the  blue 
Heavenly  canopy  serene 

Thy  sweet  mystery  view  ! 
Grant  the  gentle  solemn  force 

Which  our  breast  can  move. 
And  direct  our  onward  course 

Toward  thy  perfect  love. 
Dauntless  let  our  courage  be, 

At  the  bright  behest ; 
Mild  our  ardour  suddenly. 

When  thou  biddest  us  rest. 

Virgin,  type  of  hohness. 
Mother,  honour-crowned. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  371 

Thou  whom  we  as  queen  confess. 

Godlike  and  renowned. 
Round  her,  in  gentle  play, 

Light  clouds  are  stealing ; 
Penitents  fair  are  they. 

Who,  humbly  kneeling, 
Sip  in  the  ether  sweet, 
As  they  for  grace  entreat. 

Thou,  who  art  from  passions  free. 

Kindly  art  inclined. 
When  the  sons  of  frailty 

Seek  thee,  meek  in  mind. 
Borne  by  weakness'  stream  along, 

Hard  it  is  to  save  them  ; 
Who  can  burst  lust's  chains  so  strong, 

That,  alas,  enslave  them  ? 
Oh,  how  soon  the  foot  may  slip, 

When  the  smooth  ground  pressing  ! 
Oh,  how  false  are  eye  and  lip, 

False  a  breath  caressing  ! 

MATER  GLORIOSA  hovers  past 

CHORUS    OF    PENITENT    WOMEN. 

To  bright  realms  on  high 

In  majesty  soaring. 
Oh,  hark  to  our  cry 

Thy  pity  imploring. 
Thou  help  to  the  cheerless, 
In  glory  so  peerless ! 

MAGNA  PECCATRix   (St.  Luke  vii.  36). 

By  the  love,  which  o'er  the  feet 
Of  the  God-transfigured  Son 


372  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

Dropped  the  tears,  like  balsam  sweet, 
Spite  of  every  scornful  one  ; 

By  the  box  of  ointment  rare, 

Whence  the  drops  so  fragrant  fell ; 

By  the  locks,  whose  gentle  care 
Dried  His  holy  members  well  — 

MULIER    SAMARITANA    (St.  John  iv.). 

By  the  well  where  Abram  erst 

Drove  his  flock  to  drink  their  fill ; 
By  the  bucket  which  the  thirst 

Of  the  Saviour  served  to  still ; 
By  the  fountain,  balm-exhaling, 

That  from  yon  bright  region  flows, 
Ever  clear  and  never  faihng, 

As  round  every  world  it  goes  — 

MARIA  ^GYPTIACA  {Acta   Sanctorum). 

By  the  sacred  spot  immortal, 

Where  the  Lord's  remains  they  placed ; 
By  the  arm,  that  from  the  portal 

Drove  me  back  with  warning  haste ; 
By  my  forty  years  of  lowly 

Penance  in  a  desert  land  ; 
By  the  farewell  greetings  holy 

That  I  wrote  upon  the  sand  — 

THE    THREE. 

Thou  who  ne'er  thy  radiant  face 

From  the  greatest  sinners  hidest, 
Thou  who  Thine  atoning  grace 

Through  eternity  providest, 
Let  this  soul,  by  virtue  stirred, 

Self-forgetful  though  when  living, 
That  perceived  not  that  it  erred, 

Feel  thy  mercy,  sin  forgiving ! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  373 

UNA    PCENITENTIA. 
(Once  named  Margaret,  pressing  near  them.) 

0  radiance-spreading  One, 

Who  equalled  art  by  none, 
In  mercy  view  mine  ecstasy  ! 

For  he  whom  erst  I  loved, 

No  more  by  sorrow  proved, 
Returns  at  length  to  me ! 

BEATIFIED    CHILDREN. 
(Approaching  as  they  hover  round.) 

He  now  in  strength  of  hmb 

Far  doth  outweigh  us. 
And  as  we  tended  him, 

So  will  repay  us. 
Early  removed  were  we 

Far  from  hfe's  story  ; 
Trained  now  himself,  will  he 

Train  us  in  glory. 

THE  PENITENT,  once  named  Margaret. 

Linked  with  the  noble  band  of  spirits. 

Scarce  can  the  new  one  feel  or  see 
The  radiant  life  he  now  inherits, 

So  like  that  holy  band  is  he. 
See  how  he  bursts  each  bond  material, 

And  parts  the  olden  veil  at  length,  — 
In  vesture  clad  in  gi-ace  ethereal, 

Comes  in  the  glow  of  youthful  strength. 
Oh,  let  me  guide  his  steps  victorious, 

While  dazzled  by  the  new-born  light. 

MATER    GLORIOSA. 

Come !  raise  thyself  to  spheres  more  glorious. 
He'll  follow  when  thou  meetest  his  sight. 


374  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

DOCTOK    MARIANUS. 
(Prostrated  iu  adoration.) 

Oh,  repentant  sinful  ones, 

On  that  bright  face  gaze  ye, 
And  in  grateful  orisons, 

Your  blest  fortune  praise  ye ! 
Be  each  virtue  of  the  mind 

To  thy  service  given  ! 
Virgin,  mother,  be  thou  kind ! 

Goddess,  queen  of  heaven  ! 

CHORUS   MYSTICUS. 

Each  thing  of  mortal  birth 

Is  but  a  type  ; 
What  was  of  feeble  worth 

Here  becomes  ripe. 
What  was  a  mystery 

Here  meets  the  eye ; 
The  ever-womanly 

Draws  us  on  high. 


FROM  GOTZ  VON   BERLICHINGEN. 

ACT    II. 

LlEBETRAUT  plays  and  sings. 

His  bow  and  dart  bearing, 
And  torch  brightly  flaring, 

Dan  Cupid  on  flies  ; 
With  victory  laden, 
To  vanquish  each  maiden 
He  roguishly  tries. 
Up!  up! 
On!  on! 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  375 

His  arms  rattle  loudly, 
His  wiugs  rustle  proudly, 
And  flames  fill  his  eyes. 

Then  finds  he  each  bosom 

Defenceless  and  bare ; 
They  gladly  receive  him 

And  welcome  him  there. 
The  point  of  his  arrows 

He  lights  in  the  glow  ; 
They  clasp  him  and  kiss  him 

And  fondle  him  so. 
Hei  ei  o  !     Popeio  ! 


FROM   EGMONT. 

ACT    I. 

Clara  winds  a  sJcein  and  sings  with  Brackenburg. 

The  drum  gives  the  signal ! 

Loud  rings  the  shrill  fife  ! 
My  love  leads  his  troops  on 

Full  armed  for  the  strife. 
While  his  hand  grasps  his  lance 
As  they  proudly  advance. 

My  bosom  pants  wildly  ! 

My  blood  hotly  flows! 
Oh,  had  I  doublet, 

A  helmet,  and  hose  ! 
Through  the  gate  with  bold  footstep 

I  after  him  hied,  — 
Each  province,  each  country 

Explored  by  his  side. 


376  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

The  coward  foe  trembled 
When  rattled  our  shot : 

What  bhss  e'er  resembled 
A  soldier's  glad  lot ! 


ACT   III. 

Clara  sings. 

Gladness 

And  sadness 
And  pensiveness  blending; 

Yearning 

And  burning 
In  torment  ne'er  ending  ; 

Sad  unto  death. 
Proudly  soaring  above ; 

Happy  alone 
Is  the  soul  that  doth  love ! 


FROM    WILHELM    MEISTER'S     APPREN- 
TICESHIP. 

BOOK   II.   CHAP.   XIII. 

RETKIBUTIOK 

He  that  with  tears  did  never  eat  his  bread, 

He  that  hath  never  lain  through  night's  long  hours, 
Weeping  in  bitter  anguish  on  his  bed  — 

He  knows  ye  not,  ye  dread  celestial  powers. 
Ye  lead  us  onward  into  life.     Ye  leave 

The  wretch  to  fall ;  then  yield  him  up,  in  woe, 
Remorse,  and  pain,  unceasingly  to  grieve ; 

For  every  sin  is  punished  here  below. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  377 

Who  gives  himself  to  solitude, 

Soon  lonely  will  remain  ; 
Each  lives,  each  loves  in  Joyous  mood, 

And  leaves  him  to  his  pain. 
Yes !  leave  me  to  my  grief ! 
Were  sohtude's  relief 

E'er  granted  me, 

Alone  I  should  not  be. 


A  lover  steals,  on  footstep  Hght, 
To  learn  if  his  love's  alone ; 

Thus  o'er  me  steals,  by  day  and  night, 
Anguish  before  unknown ; 

Thus  o'er  me  steals  deep  grief. 

Ah,  when  I  find  relief 

Within  the  tomb  so  lonely, 
Will  rest  be  met  with  only ! 


BOOK   IV.   CHAP.  XI. 

My  grief  no  mortals  know, 
Except  the  yearning ! 

Alone,  a  prey  to  woe. 
All  pleasure  spurning. 

Up  towards  the  sky  I  throw 
A  gaze  discerning. 


He  who  my  love  can  know 
Seems  ne'er  returning ; 

With  strange  and  fiery  glow 
My  heart  is  burning. 

My  griefs  no  mortals  know. 
Except  the  yearning! 


378  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 


PHILINE'S    SONG. 

Sing  not  thus  in  notes  of  sadness 

Of  the  loneliness  of  night : 
No  !  'tis  made  for  social  gladness, 

Converse  sweet,  and  love's  delight. 

As  to  rugged  man  his  wife  is 
For  his  fairest  half  decreed, 

So  dear  night  the  half  of  life  is, 
And  the  fairest  half,  indeed. 

Who  could  hail  the  day  with  pleasure, 
Which  but  interrupts  our  joys, 

Scares  us  from  our  dreams  of  leisure 
With  its  glare  and  irksome  noise  ? 

But  when  night  is  come,  and  glowing 
Is  the  lamp's  attempered  ray. 

And  from  lip  to  lip  are  flowing 

Love  and  mirth,  in  sparkling  play ; 

When  the  fiery  boy,  that  wildly 
Gambols  in  his  wayward  mood. 

Calms  to  rest,  disporting  mildly, 
By  some  trivial  gift  subdued  ; 

When  the  nightingale  is  trilling 
Songs  of  love  to  lovers'  ears. 

Which,  to  hearts  with  sorrow  thrilling, 
Seem  but  sighs  and  waken  tears  ; 

How,  with  pulses  lightly  bounding. 
Leaps  the  heart  to  hear  the  bell. 

Which,  the  hour  of  midnight  sounding, 
Doth  of  rest  and  safety  tell. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  379 

Then,  dear  heart,  this  comfort  borrow 
In  the  long  day's  hngering  light  — 

Every  day  hath  its  own  sorrow. 
Gladness  cometh  with  the  night ! 


EPILOGUE    TO    SCHILLEE'S   "SONG    OF    THE 

BELL." 

[This  fine  piece,  written  originally  in  1805,  on  Schiller's  death, 
was  altered  and  recast  by  Goethe  in  1815,  on  the  occasion  of  the 
performance  on  the  stage  of  the  "  Song  of  the  Bell."  Hence  the 
allusion  in  the  last  verse.] 

To  this  city  joy  reveal  it ! 
Peace  as  its  first  signal  peal  it  ! 

—  Song  of  the  Bell  —  concluding  lines. 

And  so  it  proved  !     The  nation  felt,  ere  long, 

That  peaceful  signal,  and,  with  blessings  fraught, 

A  new-born  joy  appeared  ;  in  gladsome  soug 
To  hail  the  youthful  princely  pair  we  sought ; 

While  in  the  living,  ever-swelhng  throng 

Mingled  the  crowds  from  every  region  brought, 

And  on  the  stage,  in  festal  pomp  arrayed. 

The  Homage  of  the  Arts  ^  we  saw  displayed. 

When,  lo !  a  fearful  midnight  sound  I  hear. 
That  with  a  dull  and  mournful  echo  rings. 

And  can  it  be  that  of  our  friend  so  dear 

It  tells,  to  whom  each  wish  so  fondly  clings  ? 

Shall  death  o'ercome  a  life  that  all  revere  ? 
How  such  a  loss  to  all  confusion  brings ! 

How  such  a  parting  we  must  ever  rue ! 

The  world  is  weeping  —  shall  not  we  weep,  too  ? 

1  The  title  of  a  lyric  piece  composed  by  Schiller  in  honour  of 
the  marriage  of  the  hereditary  Prince  of  Weiinar  to  the  Princess 
Maria  of  Russia,  and  performed  in  1804. 


380  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

He  was  our  own  !     How  social,  yet  how  great 
Seemed  in  the  hght  of  day  his  noble  mind ! 

How  was  his  nature,  pleasing  yet  sedate. 
Now  for  glad  converse  joyously  inclined. 

Then  swiftly  changing,  spirit-fraught,  elate, 
Life's  plan  with  deep-felt  meaning  it  designed, 

Fruitful  alike  in  counsel  and  in  deed  ! 

This  have  we  proved,  this  tested,  in  our  need. 

He  was  our  own !     Oh,  may  that  thought  so  blest 
O'ercome  the  voice  of  wailing  and  of  woe ! 

He  might  have  sought  the  Lasting,  safe  at  rest 
In  harbour,  when  the  tempest  ceased  to  blow. 

Meanwhile  his  mighty  spirit  onward  pressed 
Where  goodness,  beauty,  truth,  for  ever  grow ; 

And  in  his  rear,  in  shadowy  outline,  lay 

The  vulgar,  which  we  all,  alas,  obey ! 

Now  doth  he  deck  the  garden-turret  fair 

Where  the  stars'  language  first  illumed  his  soul, 

As  secretly  yet  clearly  through  the  air 
On  the  eterne,  the  living  sense  it  stole ; 

And  to  his  own,  and  our  great  profit,  there 
Exchangeth  to  the  seasons  as  they  roll ; 

Thus  nobly  doth  he  vanquish,  with  renown, 

The  twilight  and  the  night  that  weigh  us  down. 


Brighter  now  glowed  his  cheek,  and  still  more  bright. 
With  that  unchanging  ever-youthful  glow,  — 

That  courage  which  o'ercomes,  in  hard-fought  fight. 
Sooner  or  later,  every  earthly  foe,  — 

That  faith  which,  soaring  to  the  realms  of  light. 
Now  boldly  presseth  on,  now  bendeth  low, 

So  that  the  good  may  work,  wax,  thrive  amain, 

So  that  the  day  the  noble  may  attain. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  381 

Yet,  though  so  skilled,  of  such  transcendent  worth, 
This  boarded  scaffold  doth  he  not  despise ; 

The  fate  that  on  its  axis  turns  the  earth 

From  day  to  night,  here  shows  he  to  our  eyes, 

Eaising,  through  many  a  work  of  glorious  birth, 
Art  and  the  artist's  fame  up  toward  the  skies. 

He  fills  with  blossoms  of  the  noblest  strife, 

With  life  itself,  this  effigy  of  hfe. 

His  giant-step,  as  ye  full  surely  know, 
Measured  the  circle  of  the  will  and  deed. 

Each  country's  changing  thoughts  and  morals,  too, 
The  darksome  book  with  clearness  could  he  read ; 

Yet  how  he,  breathless  'midst  his  friends  so  true, 
Despaired  in  sorrow,  scarce  from  pain  was  freed,  — 

All  this  have  we,  in  sadly  happy  years, 

For  he  was  ours,  bewailed  with  feehng  tears. 

When  from  the  agonising  weight  of  grief 
He  raised  his  eyes  upon  the  world  again, 

We  showed  him  how  his  thoughts  might  find  relief 
From  the  uncertain  present's  heavy  chain, 

Gave  his  fresh-kindled  mind  a  respite  brief, 
With  kindly  skill  beguiling  every  pain, 

And  e'en  at  eve  when  setting  was  his  sun, 

From  his  wan  cheeks  a  gentle  smile  we  won. 


&^ 


Full  early  had  he  read  the  stern  decree. 

Sorrow  and  death  to  him,  alas,  were  known ; 
Ofttimes  recovermg,  now  departed  he,  — 

Dread  tidings,  that  our  hearts  had  feared  to  own ! 
Yet  his  transfigured  being  now  can  see 

Itself,  e'en  here  on  earth,  transfigured  grown. 
What  his  own  age  reproved,  and  deemed  a  crime, 
Hath  been  ennobled  now  by  death  and  time. 


382  POEMS  OF  GOETHE 

And  many  a  soul  that  with  him  strove  in  fight, 
And  his  great  merit  grudged  to  recognise, 

Now  feels  the  impress  of  his  wondrous  might. 
And  in  his  magic  fetters  gladly  lies ; 

E'en  to  the  highest  hath  he  winged  his  flight, 
In  close  communion  linked  with  all  we  prize. 

Extol  him  then !     What  mortals  while  they  live 

But  half  receive,  posterity  shall  give. 


Thus  is  he  left  us  who  so  long  ago,  — 

Ten  years,  alas,  already  !  —  turned  from  earth ; 

We  all,  to  our  great  joy,  his  precepts  know. 

Oh,  may  the  world  confess  their  priceless  worth ! 

In  swelhng  tide  toward  every  region  flow 

The  thoughts  that  were  his  own  peculiar  birth ; 

He  gleams  like  some  departing  meteor  bright, 

Combining,  with  his  own,  eternal  hght. 


L'ENVOI. 

Now,  gentle  reader,  is  our  journey  ended. 

Mute  is  our  minstrel,  silent  is  our  song ; 
Sweet    the    bard's    voice   whose     strains   our    course 
attended. 

Pleasant  the  paths  he  guided  us  along. 
Now  must  we  part,  —  oh,  word  all  full  of  sadness, 
Changing  to  pensive  retrospect  our  gladness ! 

Reader,  farewell !  we  part  perchance  for  ever. 

Scarce  may  I  hope  to  meet  with  thee  again ; 
But  e'en  though  fate  our  fellowship  may  sever, 

Reader,  will  aught  to  mark  that  tie  remain  ? 
Yes !  there  is  left  one  sad,  sweet  bond  of  union,  — 
Sorrow  at  parting  links  us  in  communion. 


POEMS  OF  GOETHE  383 

But  of  the  twain,  the  greater  is  my  sorrow,  — 
Eeader,  and  why  ?  —  Bethink  thee  of  the  sun, 

How,  when  he  sets,  he  waiteth  for  the  morrow, 
Proudly  once  more  his  giant  race  to  run,  — 

Yet  e'en  when  set,  a  glow  behind  him  leaving, 

Gladdening  the  spirit,  which  had  else  been  grieving. 

Thus  mayst  thou  feel,  for  thou  to  Goethe  only 
Biddest  farewell,  nor  carest  aught  for  me. 

Twofold  my  parting,  leaving  me  all  lonely,  — 
I  now  must  part  from  Goethe  and  from  thee, 

Parting  at  once  from  comrade  and  from  leader, — 

Farewell  great  minstrel !  farewell  gentle  reader  ! 

Hushed  is  the  harp,  its  music  sunk  in  slumbers, 
Memory  alone  can  waken  now  its  numbers. 


THE   END. 


;^ji^ 


rr- 


& 


•K^^ 

^ 


.\^ 


i3V 


^^'''^-m 


^:., 


P 


wj 


#^^^ 
'* 


t^] 


•s?-' 


iv 


hi 


}^  '*k\: 


Mr; 


.^% 


.^Tlfl 


ill  Bftr 


v-^l 


'.TjT' 


»Si 


Jl^^T^^i 


»<U 


tfe 


